


Draco's Muggle Notebook

by Lia_Lia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eating Disorders, M/M, Recovery, TW mention of past torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 23:59:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17838518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lia_Lia/pseuds/Lia_Lia
Summary: A story about Draco Malfoy, eating disorders and his love for Harry Potter. Written as the different entries of his Muggle Notebook





	Draco's Muggle Notebook

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first long fanfic I wrote, I English furthermore; thank you for your indulgence! :)

Harry,

 

I sincerely hope you are doing alright. I know it isn’t your strong suit. You’re so far better at putting yourself in hazardous situations or worrying till you can’t sleep at night.

But don’t worry for me, as I am alright. As I am safe.

 

I am sorry for lying so much to you.

I am sorry I’m still lying.

I’m not alright Harry. I’ve never been alright since … since long before the war. Maybe 4th year? Who cares? I do not.

 

They said writing a diary would do me good; but after what happened with the Chamber of Secrets; I didn’t feel like doing it. I should have told Granger in person, that would’ve saved everyone so much time. Again, I am sorry for what happened here to Ginevra. I am guilty of that, too. And I am sorry you found yourself in a life-or-death situation because of my inaction. I could’ve sought for Dumbledore’s help. Or Snape’s. Snape would’ve helped me. He had always tried. I am learning here I’m allowed to grieve him. And Vince. In fact, I’m learning I can grieve, dot.  

They also say I can’t focus because my brain is deprived of his essential nutriment: sugar. So I’m sorry for flowing out.

I could have asked for help. I could have told them about the diary, or the basilik. But how was I supposed to tell them without adding: my father is still loyal to the Dark Lord and he gave the Weaslette a cursed diary in order to have the Chamber opened and all the ‘enemies of the heir’ killed? Oh, and he is still faithful of him coming back, by the way. Did I mention my house-elf tried to kill the boy who lived? Twice. I’m not sure, have I precise that said diary contains a part of V’s soul?

It would have been kinda complicated. But I could have done it.

At least I tried. I knew Granger would bug on finding a ripped page on her DADA’s book. I knew she would go the library to found out more about it. I didn’t know she’d been found by the beast before solving everything.

 

I promise you I’m going to say it out loud.

I have so many apologies to make but I’ll make sure everyone who deserves them gets them.

 

-I have to say sorry to Granger. For so much things. Mostly the mudblood part. And the “my aunt tortured you in my own house”.

-To the Weasley. All of them. Maybe not to Percy. He has always been a dick.

-Longbottom, of course.

-Dean & Seamus.

-Lavender Brown and Creevey’s families.

-McGonagall.

-Katie Bell.

-Chang.

-DiGorry.

-Hagrid. And his atrocious wingy horse.

-Teddy Lupin, for he’ll never know his parents.

I mean, fucking everyone who lost someone in the battle of Hogwarts. A loved one, a friend, a housemate.

I feel like I have to apologize to the whole wizarding world.

I’ve been so stupid you know. And so coward. I am not saying I could have ended all up. This had always been your role. The boy who lived twice. I am so sorry you had to die twice. I am so sorry, Harry. I am so sorry.

They say that feeling sorry doesn’t change the course of the sun. I know it. But if I am not, wouldn’t that mean I don’t regret everything that happened back then?

I’ve got blood on my hands and I can’t wash them. It won’t ever disappear.

I have to seek for redemption. I am not looking for forgiveness -what I’ve done can’t be. But I hope I’ll be able to balance my faults.

 

It’s getting late, Harry. I can’t be up past 9 or they’d give me ‘bad points’.

If I earn enough good one, I’ll be allowed to write a letter, then make a firecall and if all go well, I’ll be able to see you.

Goodnight Harry. Sleep well, and may the nightmares stay away.

DM

 

 

 

Harry,

 

It’s atrocious in here. I’m starting to think about Azkaban. About how the dementors made me feel.

They want me to out the Manor’s closet skeletons. They want me to talk about Mother and Father.

They say there’s no use of making me eat again if I don’t find out what made me stop eating in the first place. They say I have to rethink my childhood to found out where my mind fucked up.

So I told them I’d prefer fast until my last excuse is made.

They gave me bad points when I didn’t show up to my appointment with Dr R. So I skipped dinner. They gave me bad points, again.

I’m starting to think I’m never going to get out of here alive.

                                                                                                                         D

 

 

 

Harry,

 

Today with Dr R. we talked about 6th and 7th years, how it was to live with the Dark Lord. He said I should start calling him by his name. But he hasn’t one anymore, has he? Tom Riddle Jedusor died when Myrtle died. The thing that lived inside my house wasn’t human and there is no way I’m mouthing his self-proclaimed tittle again.

 

 

 

Harry,

I am sorry for letting you down earlier.

I mean, I know I haven’t really let you down, you aren’t reading what I wrote so … and even if you read it one day, how could you know how many times passed between different entries ? You’d be absolutely clueless.

 

Things got pretty harsh in the manor, you know. Between the killings and the chasings, the cursing and torturing. I’ve seen enough blood and heard enough cries for my entire life.

I haven’t cried when it was my turn. I’ve cried for Luna. She was so pure. But I, I deserved it.

I don’t regret saving you. Of course, I knew it was you. How could I not recognise those perfect green eyes?

It was hard talking about it with Dr R. Even if we didn’t really talk about it deeply. The shallowing is deep enough for now I think.

Um... I’ve forgotten my point in the meantime… I think I wanted to tell you that we are working, really.

And that I’ve earned good points today.

                                                                                                               DM

 

 

 

Harry,

I’ve earned good points today. And I’ve finished my plate. It was veggie, mostly. But I’ve finished it.

I didn’t have any appointment with Dr R. so I’m feeling fine. No overthinking for once.

I’ve been thinking of you, of course. I’m missing you so much. It’s crazy, when you think about it: you’ve always been part of my life, always. And I hope you’ll always be. And now I hope I’ll never show you this f…ing muggle notebook.  You’d be smiling so genuinely if you were here, seeing me blushing that much.

I love you Harry, and I miss you.

                                                                                                                         DM

 

 

Harry

I’m sorry I didn’t write this week. It’s been pretty hard.

I’m starting to think about running away, again. Every time I think I’m doing better Dr R. fucked my brain some more. He definitely wants me to talk about 6th and 7th years.

And I definitely don’t want.

He hadn’t given me bad points for not eating because I haven’t blackmailed him with it. He said we really need to talk about those years if the bare fact of talking about talking about it makes me starve.

I haven’t told him that the bare fact of thinking about talking about talking about it makes me want to throw up.

I’m completely messed up, Harry. I am sorry.

                                                                                            DM

 

 

Harry,

It’s been a few weeks I’m locked in now, and I’m wondering: are you seeing someone else? Or are you waiting for me?

I wouldn’t blame you. I’m just burning to know.

                                                                                

It’s not about burning to know.

It’s about being able to      to be         to be without you.

I’m not saying I couldn’t live without you. I’m not saying I’m going to kill myself when you’ll break up with me.

I’m just saying it’s going to hurt me so badly.

I don’t understand how I got you to love me back. I’m never going to be good enough for you, I’m never going to deserve you. And it’s not that I am grateful for your love or anything seemingly. It’s about how happy I can be when I’m by your side. I used to think I could never be happy again. But you made me smiled, you made me laughed.

You have something of a phoenix within you.

                                                                                                              DM   

 

 

 

Harry,

Everything is fine here. I am perfectly fine.

Hope I’ll see you soon.

                                                                                           DM

 

Harry,

Dr R. asked to read our one track epistolary conversation. He said I had the right to say no. It felt like I haven’t.

He said that it’s not fair, lying to you, even if it’s just in my ‘in-patient diary’.

I wasn’t doing fine yesterday. Nor the day before. But I wanted to pretend. I wanted you to hear good news. I needed you to hear good news.

We haven’t talked about 6th or 7th years yet. He said I really need to open up. But he also says that if I maintain my weight those 2 weeks, I’d be allowed to firecall someone. As much as I would love talking to you and hearing your voice, I’m thinking of calling Mother. It’s hard enough for her. I’ve hurt her so much. I might be the person she loves the most and it felt like I have betrayed her. I owe her that. I owe her so much more.

I mean, she gave me life, and all her love. She has risked her life for me. And when the war was over…

 

There are some things you need to know about my disease Harry. About things that are so deeply engraved in my brain that they keep me from recovering without all Dr R. brain fucking.

Because I believe in Control, the only force mighty enough to bring order to the chaos that is my life.

Because I believe that I am the most vile, worthless and useless person ever to have existed on this planet, and that I am totally unworthy of anyone’s time and attention.

And I believe that other people who tell me differently must be idiots. If they could see how I really am, then they would hate me almost as much as I do.

I believe in oughts, musts and shoulds as unbreakable laws to determine my daily behaviour.

I believe in perfection and strive to attain it.

I believe in salvation through trying just a bit harder than I did yesterday.

I believe in a wholly black and white world, recrimination for sins, the abnegation of the body and a life ever fasting.

 

Putting in other words: emptiness is pure - starvation is the cure.

 

In 6th year I thought that if I starved enough, I’d be sent home, or better, to St Mango from where I would be useless.

In 7th year, it was the only form of power I had over my own life: I would be the one and only one deciding over my dying -or living. It was my only sense of control. It’s amazing how powerful it feels, being able not to feed your body. Being stronger than your basic instincts.

 

But of course, it didn’t appear in 6th year. You don’t decide to stop eating in a clap of the hand.

I’ve been taught to seek for perfection. For emptiness.

 

Dr R. said that my brain was predisposed to mental illness. I didn’t like it.

 

Ok, I haven’t planned on writing so much… I may show this entry to Dr R. Maybe that would help.

 

Thank you, Harry.

Thank you for helping me from afar.

 

And I’ll have something to tell you when I get out. 3 words. 9 letters. It may burn my lips saying it out loud.

                                                                                                               DM.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry,

I had a firecall with Mother today.

I’m sorry I didn’t write in the meantime, I was busy with the group: we are planning a trip in the forest in a few weeks, maybe hiking. Everyone here participate in the making up, even the ~~skinniest~~ everyone will go. Dr R and Angelica (she’s one of his ‘assistant’, maybe a mediwitch or something like that. All I am sure about is that she -and the others ‘carers’ have a medical training: muggle and magical training btw). So Dr R. and Angelica will take us there and watch upon us in order to keep unhealthy behaviours at bay.

 

Mother told me Father was sick, too. He was admitted to St Mungo last night. So that wasn’t really a ‘earned firecall’. But if I maintain my weight until Sunday I’ll be able to make another one -as I heard from Mother and know for sure that she’ll give me news of Father- I’m choosing you. I hope you’ll be home.  

 

                                                                                                                         DM

 

 

 

 

 

Harry …

I should have told you yesterday, and the day before. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t write it down. I couldn’t make it real.

Father is gravely sick.

He might not get through it.

The Healers at St Mungo are cunts. They can’t treat him as an ordinary patient. They all know that Lucius Malfoy was -is? - a death eater. They aren’t doing their best to save his life. I have to admit a part of me understands them. Mother seems to understand too: she hasn’t said a word louder than the others. But part of me doesn’t. He’s still my dad. He may have his defaults, he may have been / be (?) a supremacist. But he is still my dad. The one who held me on his shoulders when I was little; when I was so young being a Malfoy didn’t matter.

I don’t want him to die, Harry. I don’t want him to die.

 

 

 

 

 

Harry,

I am sorry.

It’s Sunday night and I’m writing to you instead of talking to you via the fire. I am sorry. I’m a terrible boyfriend.

I was so stressed out about Father that I couldn’t eat. Dr R. said he understands but didn’t allow me to call you. He said rules aren’t made for nothing.

And as I’ve also skipped some sessions, I’ve lost some of my good points. I don’t have enough to just owl you.

How can’t he understand that my Father’s health is my priority now? I’m not going to die anytime soon, my body can take it. But if Father dies and I haven’t been able to see him, my mind won’t.

Angelica hugged me this morning when I couldn’t get off my bed. It felt weird, but nice. I want you to hug me so tight the broken pieces stick together. I hope she’ll convince Dr R. to let me see Father. What is he afraid of?

I’m not going to eat unless he let me go. He hates blackmailing but I don’t care. If he doesn’t want me to go to St M. on my own 2 foot, I’ll go on a stretcher.

 

As I write it down, I’m starting to see the obvious: if he let me go now it would be as if not eating was a right way to obtain everything I want.

I mean, it is. And that’s a problem …

 

I hope you’re doing alright.

I miss you so much.

                                                                                                               D.M

 

 

 

 

 

Harry,

Dr R. is blackmailing me. He said I have to eat every one of my meals if I want to see Father tomorrow. That makes 6 more meals (the dietician fractionates lunch and dinner in 2 meals each, and we have tea at 16h). It’s 14h now. He only wants me to eat like a normal person eats for 24 hours. When did it become so struggling to eat normally for 24 hours?

But I’ll do it. I want to see Father. And then the knots will get loose and I’ll be able to eat a little bit more. And I’ll go back to my sessions with Dr R. I haven’t told this to him but to the cooker. He’s a nice guy. I know he will tell him.

 

18h: eaten. I’m trying not to think about the calories inside me.

20h: eaten. Hopefully supper is always made of soup (60).

21h: I’ve thrown up. Antony told the night watch about it. I promise I didn’t do it intentionally. It was just too much for my stomach. They seemed to trust me as I didn’t make it to the toilets. I hope Dr R. won’t take it against me tomorrow.

 

I’m going to sleep now, I’m exhausted.

I want to sleep beside you.

I miss your smell.

                                                                                                                         DM

 

 

Harry!

I’m going to see Father!

I am so happy.

I’m waiting for Mother to come here (Angelica will be there too) so I have some spare time to spend with you.

 

I had a session this morning with Dr R. I told him about the puking. I was so nervous he wouldn’t let me go but instead he congratulated me for the efforts I made. Do not smile that much, Gryffindor’s prat, everything wasn’t yellow and unicorn. He said that it’s regrettable that I’m still so clueless about my recovery and that I really need to sort out my priorities.

He really wants me to talk about 6th and 7th year. I said I will. But little by little.

I told him I want to recover. I want to get out of there and live. I want to see you again. But it’s obviously not enough for him.

 

I wish Mother hadn’t sent me there in the first place. Why hadn’t she chosen those hospitals where they made you sign a weight contract and when that weight is reached you can go out?

I know she doesn’t just want me to look healthy. She also wants me to be.

And I want to.

I think it’s easier to want to gain weight when your path hasn’t cross any mirror in 9 weeks.

 

Mother’s here. I have to go.

                                                                                 DM

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry

I came back from St Mungo one hour ago. Father is getting better. He’ll make it out alive and then he’ll have to go back to Azkaban. I hope the ministry will chase away the dementors in-between (it appears they ‘didn’t know some were still there’).

He was looking so pale, and ghost-like. He who once looked so confident and arrogant now looks so frail and vulnerable. Even his eyes weren’t the same. It was as if he weren’t really here with us.

Mother said those eyes don’t belong to the livings. She said she decided to send me to Dr R. when she saw their shadows in mine. It made me freak out. I don’t want to be like Father.

I want to be alive. I want to live in OUR REAL WORLD.

I’m having an extra session tonight, I’ve asked for it. I have to catch up for the time I lost.

 

                                                                                                               DM 

 

 

 

Harry,

 

I am sorry I didn’t write sooner. It’s Saturday today. In fact I am sorry for not being regular at all. I haven’t written that much since I’m in. My daily routine isn’t that interesting anyway.

BUT

I’m here to talk/write about those last few days.

 

Seeing my father was a good thing after all. It helped me … I’m not really sure about how to phrase it… I mean, it’s not that I’m worrying about not sounding as clever and educated as I am, it’s about needing it to be said the way I feel it, as it is really important to me.

_My poor feather is getting eaten at the moment. I wonder how many calories are in it. Did I really write this down? Sweet Merlin …_

I’m flowing out Harry. I can’t find the right words and it’s pissing me off. I’m lame at so much things … I can’t write my own thoughts, I can’t even eat. Do you know anything more useless than a living being unable to eat? How can I be best at fighting my own basic instinct, huh?

I know it isn’t true. I’m good at potions.

You haven’t seen it but I’ve just rolled my eyes. I am bloody Draco Malfoy. I am not lame. I was second of our years, just behind Hermione.

I wrote the song about Weasley , did you know? And I made the badges “Potter stinks”: I’m quite proud of those actually. I still have one in my desk at the Manor. It was so exalting having you participating in the Triwizard Tournament. And exciting. And also frightening. I have to admit it felt atrocious seeing you with the dragon. I mean, you had the more aggressive one and have you see his body? I can’t understand why Dumbledore agreed to have his students fighting dragons. You could have died.

So, I wasn’t there to write about how astonishing you were or to voice out my past fantasies about you.

I may not be sure about the ‘past’ to be honest.

I hope Dr R. will read this one. You want to know what’s on my mind, don’t you Dr R.? There’s Potter naked on my mind. Harry fucking Potter, the Saviour of the wizarding world, the boy who lived twice, the winner of the Triwizard Tournament, Just Harry is the object of my fantasy and love. And I fall asleep thinking about his goofy smile, his bright green eyes, his horribly messy hair and the way they always smell so good. About the way his

Ok, I am not writing it down.

I love your body, Harry. I mean, I don’t love you for your body, but I love it too. You’re a gorgeous guy with a noble heart and a pure soul. You are funny and smart and

 

And again I wasn’t here to talk about it.

You know I love you Harry, right? I need you to know I do.

I can’t wait to tell you this at loud. And tell you the millions reasons why I love you.

 

 

 

I was here to talk about Father and how his endangered life did helped me.

 Mother’s words had a strong impact on me, too. I am not interesting in being a bag of bones. I mean I kinda am.

 

Let me begin again. (I have no right to erase what I wrote, rule n°i-don’t-remember)

I want to be define by something else that ‘an ex death eater’, ‘a bag of bones’, ‘a zombie’ etc. I don’t want to stick to that negativity.

I want to do something with my life before it’s too late. And if I don’t eat, then I’ll die. And I don’t want to die anytime soon.

I want to grow old, Harry.

I want to get married, have children then grandchildren.

I want to tell them about my story, about how did I make all the wrong choices and mostly about how I didn’t let them define myself or became myself. I am much more than this. I want them to know how important is it to always think by yourself, to always ask ‘why’ and ‘why’ again, until the answer is perfectly clear. I’ve made so many mistakes there’s no way I’m letting someone else repeat them.

I want to warn them about how much peace is fragile and about the darkness behind it. We’ve lived a war, Harry. You were fighting for the Good, for freedom and equality. I wasn’t. But I’ve seen things, and I’ve understand. I can help people understand too. I am not entirely sure about what I want to do with my life, but I’m sure I’ll be doing my best to make some good in the world.

But I won’t be able to do it if I’m hospitalized till my last breath. I won’t be able to do it if my body isn’t working anymore.

So I need to cure myself from this illness. I AM FIGHTING. I am, Harry.

I am eating. I am going to my sessions with Dr R. I am participating in their activities groups: I am in charge of the itinerary to the hiking trip -it only consisted in calling some buses (muggle) companies and get the lowest prices etc., not really interesting but I’m better at it than in ‘painting my emotions with my fingers’ (I swear Mother will hear about it, I can’t believe they really thought it was a useful/helpful activity).

 

About my sessions with Dr R:

We didn’t have that much in the meantime and we have talk a little bit about 6th and 7th years (beginning with what I’ve told you earlier). We’ve talked about how much I used my ED to ‘escape’ from things I had too little control upon: the rising of the Dark Lord and everything that came with, what being a Malfoy meant before and after it and how it has always been a burden to me, how perfect I always had to be; but also how it enabled me to repel my emotion and how it gave me a goal to attain, something to focus on whatever happened. Because I was ill before the war. I was ill before I knew V the Dark Lord had come back. So my ED wasn’t always about surviving a war and making as less damage possible.

I don’t really remember how it happens. All I remember is that someday it was there and it never disappeared. The world wasn’t anymore. There was just the food, the classes, my friends and you. I am sure you have lots of memories of your Hogwarts’s years. I haven’t that much. 4th year for example: I remember the tasks like everyone, but what I remember from the Yule ball (for example) is hunger and crying over food. I think it was the year it started to get pretty bad. I’ve lost so much weight. Did you know I made friends form Beauxbatons? One was ill but not “ill-ill” more like “this isn’t a disease but a lifestyle-ill”. She taught me some “things”.  (Now I can clearly see that hanging out with her was another one of my wrong choices … but at that time I wasn’t thinking straight enough to see that I had obviously walked across the line between healthy and unhealthy)

 

Anyway. I was here to tell you I’m making progress. I’m working, I’m eating, I’m fighting back. I know I am ill and I am accepting that my thoughts / my eyes aren’t working the way they should because my brain is malfunctioning. So I am focusing on finding what is a ‘real’ thought and what is a ‘parasite’ one. I am going to learn how to recognize my symptoms as what they are: symptoms. And with Dr R help, I hope I’ll finally understand how I get there and never going back to it.

 

I am not making it a promise Harry. I am making it a fact.

I won’t let you down.

I won’t let me down.

I deserve to heal my brains and find my way back to being a healthy person. I won’t lose my path anymore.

                                                                                                               DM.

 

 

Harry,

Today was an atrocious day.

It was Vincent’s birthday. They say first anniversaries are always the harder but it isn’t the first anymore. Will it feel better for the 3rd? or is it going to sting for ever?

He may not have been my best friend and he may not have been a good guy but I’ve known him since ever. We were in pre-school together and we used to do sleepovers with other Slytherins until we went to Hogwarts. It’s like I’m missing a part of my childhood now. I’m not saying that if he was still alive we would still be friends. But I am saying that he stood by my side until the very end. And that ought to count for something. Blaise was smart and funny in this subtle way of his, and Pans was and is my best friend but still, they weren’t the one who stood for me in front of the Room of Requirement for almost a year. Blaise was too busy showing himself and Pansy … I made sure she wasn’t.

Vince was simple. He has learned to enjoy life without asking questions and he did a great job at enjoying life. He was good at not questioning everything, too, but that wasn’t a quality …

 

It was hard getting out of bed, knowing I’ll spend the day thinking about him and the way he perished. (I didn’t feel like using the D word)

He died for nothing.

The fire was a stupid idea. Right, that destroyed a horcrux. But we didn’t know. We only knew we had to do something or else we were going to be killed -either by your side or ours. I am so glad you made it out alive, and that you were kind enough to save me. But I would have liked things to end differently. I am missing my friend, Harry.

I’m wondering how Greg is doing. I wonder if he knows what day it is, locked in Azkaban. I wonder if the dementors had left him alive or not. It was so dull of him threatening people during the trials and praising the Lord’s work. I mean, he always was wooden-headed but to that point? Maybe he felt like fighting for his family honour. Maybe it was the only thing to do. He had killed people back in 7th year. And I’m not talking about what happen during Hogwarts’s battle. I am talking about his holidays activities with his father and the other Death Eaters -excluding me. I have never killed anyone, I promise it again. But he does.

 

So this was one of the reasons why I am so pleased for this day to be over soon.

 

In addition, as if I wasn’t feeling bad enough, I’ve discovered soon enough that it’ll be ‘surprise scale day’ too.

I haven’t told you about those ‘rituals’ because it wasn’t worthy before but now that it is, I may explain you a few things.

Even if we are not ‘chained’ by a weight contract, Dr R. and the others need to know about our weight and our eating habits to know if we are doing better, or not, ( ~~I think they also don’t like having skeleton in their institute)~~ so every now and then they weight us. I say it to be ‘surprise’ because they don’t want us to cheat by knowing when we can fill our bladder or hide stones in our underwear -I swear I saw a girl do it. So usually they find us in our way to breakfast. I haven’t told you about it before because they’ve never told me the numbers, until today. They didn’t want it to interfere with my recovery.

But now, they say that I need to accept my weight and not let it define myself and my behaviour. Dr R. said I’ve made enough progress since last week to include other parts of my eating disorder.

Now I am going to be pressured to talk about 6th and 7th years some more, to talk about how my eating is making me feel, about how gaining weight is making me feel, about how getting fat is

ED’s talking. I’ve gained a few pounds. _I’ve rolled my eyes_. It isn’t ‘a few’. I’ve gained a little less than 1kg per week here.

Part of me knows it’s a good thing. But part of me doesn’t and is screaming right now.

I mean, I know I’ve gained weight: I haven’t been able to get anywhere near a mirror (yet) but I still have eyes -and still body checks. I know that my bones are less visible, that I’m losing less hair. I know gaining weight is a good thing. But I feel horrible in my own skin. I need to see my bones, to be able to feel them. And I still do. It’s only 8kg. I still have 20 at least to gain.

 

 

I am not saying all this to depress you, or make you worry about me.

I’ve felt like shit all day, and it’s important that I write it down. That sick diary is a tool for my recovery. I have to tell you how guilty I felt, guilty for Vince, for letting him die, for dragging him in the Room. Guilty for trying to recover and by doing this, gaining weight. Guilty for being alive, when he is not. Guilty for not being to be fully alive, when it’s what he was doing best.

I am not a functional being. I just want to slice open my stomach and take everything out. And I want to rip my heart out in the process.

The world is an awful place to be, Harry. I’ve been trying to keep it at bay but I cannot. It’s crawling inside my brain.

 

I’ve skipped dinner / supper today. I’ve skipped breakfast too. I have eaten at lunch (240) and have my tea, but without the cake.

I’m torn apart between eating and staying focused on my recovery and fasting for ever. If I fast, I’ll starve, then I’ll die. If I fast, I’ll starve, then I’ll die. If I fast, I’ll starve, then I’ll die. Sorry Harry, this wasn’t for you. It’s some kind of mantra, it helps me sticking it in my head : if I fast, I’ll starve then I’ll die -> I don’t want to die so I have to eat.

 

I haven’t said that to Dr R. or anyone, actually. I am happy ‘surprise scale day’ was on Vince B-day. It’s easier to hate myself because of some fat storage. If all I had to do was to think about how I betrayed him and how crappy a friend I was, I think I wouldn’t have been able to get through it, not alone.

                                                                                                               DM

 

P.S: as it is important to hear at least one good new per day, let me tell you that the hiking trip takes place this weekend. We’ll be camping, à la muggle, and it’s terrifying me. I’ve never been camping before. But I think that it’s something I would like to do with you.

         

 

 

 

 

Harry,

It’s been hard getting out of bed today too. My ass stayed under the cover until 12 in fact … but I am feeling better. Antony -I think I’ve told about him earlier? He’s my roommate for 6 weeks; he got in for trying suicide. Anyway. - Antony was really adorable this morning. I was kinda fed up against him for reporting me at the nightwatch but he made up for it. He told me he was going home in a couple of weeks and hopes I’d be home in a couple more. He stayed with me all morning, even if I haven’t opened my mouth the first two hours. He ate breakfast in the room and get me some (I don’t know how he did it, I’m not allowed to eat upstairs. I think the rules aren’t the same depending on why you’re in). Here he’s what looks the most to a friend to me. And I repeat: a friend. Don’t overthink it. He’s not sleeping in my bed when I’m freezing but he may give me his covers.

I may haven’t told about him sooner intentionally. I’m sure you would be jealous and then you’ll be displeased with yourself for being jealous of a guy who’s only my friend, and maybe you’ll finally feel guilty of not being able to be here to warm me up.

He’s nice and sort of protective over me? He’s a muggle so he doesn’t know who I // he doesn’t know that I’ve been a Death Eater. He thinks I was in some kind of abroad school for spoiled prat (try to explain the Triwizard Tournament, the quidditch games or even the 4 houses and not looking as if your school was so ‘old-school’ it could only be for rich kids and haute bourgeoisie?) it was also the only way to explain why Father was in prison (being there for financial illegal activities is better than the truth, isn’t it?). I don’t remember why I’ve just written this …

The protectiveness. It comes from the nightmares. _Merlin I got it! (the reason why I’ve written it) My brain made a shortcut: because I have been a Death Eater -and an asshole- I am not worthy of being watched over, so Antony’s ignorance about it is the reason why I can accept his protectiveness. The good point is that my brain thinks that there’s actually a part of me which is worth it. After yesterday I wasn’t sure it would._

Anyway. I was talking about Antony.

I don’t feel like it’s important in fact.

I wasn’t feeling good, he cheered me up, I get out of my bed and down to the lunch. And here we are.

 

I may come back after my session with Dr R.

                                                             DM.

 

 

 

 

Harry,

I am sorry for earlier. I was feeling guilty and insecure. I’m really just friend with A. but the mere fact of thinking that you could be hurt if you knew it?

I’ve talked about it with Dr R. I felt like I was making a fool of myself. He said it was a good sign if I could struggle over a boy like every 20 yo people do. You’d be so happy to hear what I’ve replied to it (something like: Harry isn’t just a boy is so much … blablabla Pansy would have thrown up). Thinking about it I could’ve told this to her back at Hogwarts ahah!

I wanted you to know that Antony is only watching over me because I am locked in. If I wasn’t it would be Pansy or Mother: not you. You’re my boyfriend, it’s not your role to distract me from counting cals when I’m eating or hitting me with socks when I’m body checking. You’re so much worth than this. I don’t want to fight with you over skipping meals or weighting 4 times a day. I want to walk around England with you, take you to this muggle cinema at the corner of James Street and hear you hum as you bake pancakes. We’ll have fights, it’s ineluctable. But I don’t want us to fight because of my illness. Fight because I hate those Chinese foods you’re so keen on eating 3 days a week? no worries, we will. Fight because I have forgotten to do the laundry? my fault. I’m not used not having house elves. Fight because you’ve forgotten our X year anniversary? I’m sure you could, I’m sure we would. I want us to fight because we love each other, because living with someone can be hard, not because I’ve got eating disorders.

So please, don’t be jealous of him.

 

And don’t worry for Dr R. We haven’t only talk about you.

We’ve also talked about my weight and those kind of stuff.

But I’m feeling ok, now that I’ve flattened things with you.

 

You’re my only one, Harry. I love you.

 

                                                                                                               DM

 

 

 

 

Harry,

It’s finally time I get out of here!

Right, for the weekend only. But by Salazar I need some fresh air.

Everything is in order for tomorrow, we’ve packed our bags, brushed our teeth, and we’re going to bed, waiting excitedly for the sun to rise again. I’ve got the impression that the longer I’m staying here, the more pathetic I become … I mean, just check my punctuation uses … and I have been writing in italics … I really need to get out to a normal social life.

 

 

 

 

Harry,

It’s 7 and we’re in the bus. It’s still pretty dark outside. I can’t wait for spring to be really here. I hope I’ll be out when the flowers blossom at the Manor. You should see it, it’s each year prettier. Maybe I’ll invite Luna to come too. I know she would love it. I don’t know why it’s so hard for people to admit that she and I became friends. I am not the one who locked her in my cave but I have to say that I may be one of the few who were able to see why she was a true menace to the Dark Lord. You cannot make the world go down into chaos if a soul as bright as Luna’s is still alive somewhere.

 

I’ll write later.

Have a nice weekend.

DM

 

 

 

 

 

Harry,

It’s being dark again. I have to say I am not fully relaxed. We can hear beasts in the forest and the wind in the trees. It’s making me think about 7th year.

My heart is holding his beating in case the Dark Lord returns. I’m hearing Bella’s laughter in the cracks of the twigs behind footsteps. I know it makes no sense.

I’ve never slept without a little bit of light since then and there is no way I can cast a Lumos with a muggle reading beside me.

Harry I need you. I need you here, right now.

 

Harry : it’s Antony. Just to say Draco is sleeping and that is he alright. I haven’t read. Night mate.

 

 

 

 

 

Harry,

I’ve woke up exhausted. I wasn’t hungry at all. I felt like never eating again. If I become a ghost I won’t be afraid of them anymore, right?

I don’t know why Dr R. allowed that.

I don’t know how couldn’t he find out how triggering it was going to be for some of us. Or maybe that was the point? Maybe he was testing us?

People went swimming in a small lake we’ve walked to. We’ve been hiking for four hours and when we got to the lake someone shouted about testing the water. Why couldn’t we have just played games, read and talked instead?

 

You know I’ve fought hard this weekend to appear normal and happy.

I’ve eaten half of every one of my meals yesterday and find the strength to talk instead of counting bites. I’ve walked without thinking of the fat I could’ve been burning if I had skipped lunch. I’ve eaten dinner and those barbaric grilled marshmallow knowing there was no way I could exercise before going to bed. And now they want me half naked in front of dozens of people? I can already see their gazes on me. We are all ill here but that had never stopped anyone from judging. We are five here, suffering from ED. I’m the only guy. I think it’s a benefit when I see the way Ellie looks at Stella as if she was the trendiest bonespo ever. Stella acts as if she doesn’t know it but she pukes after every one of her meals to stay as skinny as possible: if Ellie started looking at another girl, I bet Stella would immediately stop eating. They need each other to feed their illness. I’m trying to stay as far from them as I can.

Isabel is the nicest of them but she will quickly get out as she’s here since 9 months. She told me she was eating her emotions: if she’s too happy, she’ll eat to celebrate. If she’s sad, she’ll eat to get comfort etc. Her brain had linked her emotion to the need of food, but once she’s started eating, she cannot stop herself. She ended up alternating between puffing and starving herself. But now she’s doing fine. She’ll be home before the end of the month.

Bonnie is new here. Everything she does seem unreal to me. It looks like she’s always high or something.

The others are here for depression, addiction, self-harm and attempt at suicide. We are all here hoping that talking and overanalysing our thoughts will help us.

 

I am flowing away. It’s easier. It’s easier to be here, writing to you than to face the truth. There are half naked skeletons swimming next to me.

                                                  

                                                                       And they want me to swim along.                                                                                                                             DM

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry,

Everything is blurred, again.

I’m not sure of what I should be doing.

We came back late to the institute, mostly because we took more time by the lake than we thought we would.

It was fun, I have to say. The boys found out very quickly that it was easy to throw in the water underweight girls… It was mostly screaming, splashing and laughter. It felt good; it felt like being normal again.

But now I’m confused.

I’ve seen the way the boys tried not to look at me when I’ve been undressing / going into the water. They’ve tried not to stare at my scars but failed. They’ve tried not to look at my bones but failed. The way they’ve been acting around me speaks for itself: they’re treating me as if I was made of sugar and risked melting in the water. But at least, they tried to help me feel as normal as possible.

I am confused because of how delicate they were toward me, in comparison of how they were toward the girls. I don’t know whether Antony had told them about Saturday night or not, or if that came from the way the wizard one (Tobias) acted over me : he hadn’t say anything but he didn’t look at me in the same way before and after seeing Aunt Bella’s words on my back. He was suddenly … careful. I think he **_pity_** me.

The girls, the ones with ED I mean, they’ve felt it too. Ellie and Stella were obviously staring at me when I get into the water. Then Stella made sure she was the boys’ favourite “toy”, catching all of Ellie’s attention. She hasn’t spoken to me since.

Ellie came to me when we were dressing-up.

She said I’m making the biggest mistake of my life.

She said I shouldn’t have tried to recover that early. She said I should have lost a little more weight but that I obviously wasn’t strong enough for it. She said it was a shame, that I could have reach perfection by just trying a little bit harder, a little bit longer.

She said I’ve missed my chance and made the wrong choice.

 

Isabel caught a glimpse of the conversation but I haven’t told her about it.

I haven’t told anyone.

In fact I haven’t really spoken to anyone since. And I haven’t eaten too. In fact I am currently at my lunch table, writing to you instead of nourishing my body. I can feel some of their gaze on me. I’m sure Isabel had a word or two with Ellie. They know something’s wrong with me. Antony will get back home on tomorrow. I don’t want him to go away. I don’t want him to leave me here.

Isabel and the guys are nice but it’s not the same. We share activity groups and games but we don’t really talk about what _matter_. Right, it seems that things had changed a little bit since this weekend. At least that’s what we said yesterday in group therapy.

But I feel so alone, Harry.

It fucking feels like 6th years all over again.

And I don’t want to feel that way ever again, Harry, do you understand? I don’t want to feel that way ever again.

Fuck it I think I’m crying.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry,

I’m sorry about earlier.

I’ve been able to go upstairs before breaking down.

I’ve kissed Antony.

I shouldn’t have. I was feeling awful and he was there. He fucking ran to our room when he saw me leaving the dining table. He hugged me and said the right things. I know that I haven’t any excuses. I just shouldn’t have.

He’s still going back home on Thursday but he asked if he could exchange room for tonight. Told me he couldn’t be used that way. I wasn’t using him I promise.

I don’t know what I’ve done.

 

I am sorry.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                    DM

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry,

Antony isn’t talking to me. I’ve tried to apologize to him when I was finally able to recompose myself but he doesn’t want to listen. I’ve told him I didn’t care, that he could act as childishly as he wanted it wasn’t going to make me shut up. I’ve told him how sorry I was about the kissing and how thankful I was for his friendship.

I’m hiding in my room since.

The strangest thing is that I’m not sure if I’m hiding from him or from myself.

I think I’m hiding from myself.

I am.

 

I feel so ashamed.

I’m ruining everything I touch, everything I care about.

I feel so ashamed toward you.

You looked through the death eater and found the boy. Then again, you get forward our childhood rivalry. I’ve no clue what you saw in me that deserved a second chance.

I think you’ve only been too kind. I think you needed to believe there was something valuable in me. I think you made a mistake.

I’ve kissed a boy I haven’t told you about because I was afraid you could think there was something between us and I’ve promise there wasn’t. But I’ve kissed him, in the end.

It has nothing to do with feelings like love or lust. He’s still a friend, nothing more. I don’t want it to happen ever again.

I want you to be here.

I really want you to be here.

I need to see you, Harry. I need you.

 

 

                                                                                                               DM

 

 

 

 

Harry,

Antony’s gone. I’m going to have a new roommate anytime soon. I hope he’ll be nice. But mostly, I hope he’ll be a muggle. If one knew I’d end up saying this.

The goodbyes were awkward. It’s hard being happy, sad, ashamed and abashed in the same time. It earned us funny looks from the people we talk to.

As I felt better I’ve eaten this morning _1/2 apple (30) + green tea_.

Now Antony’s gone and I’m alone in my room wondering if I should get downstairs for lunch. I think I will.

I’m here for this, isn’t it?

                                                                                                                         DM

 

 

 

 

 

Harry,

It’s the 2nd time I write to you today and I hope you don’t find it rude. I mean, you could still be mad at me for yesterday. If I were you I’d still be. Then you are a diary and the real you doesn’t know about this.

I’m flowing out and writing nonsense.

 

Dr R. is mad at me.

He said I’m fucking up my progresses. Said he don’t understand why I’m skipping meals again. Said apples, green tea and 3 beans aren’t meals. He obligated me to weight myself in his office bathroom _in my underwear, in front of his mirror_ and then asked me to read the numbers _aloud_.

He said that if I didn’t want to recover I should just go home and die there.

I told him I didn’t want to die but I couldn’t eat either. I told him I’ve been to every one of our appointments since I’ve been authorized to see Father and if that didn’t matter to him and to my recovery then he was a shit psych. That he made me gained weight and that I’ve eaten that much my body had thrown up on his own will. That it wasn’t my fault if he couldn’t handle a bunch of crazy non eating people, that it wasn’t my fault if Ellie had told me I was doing a mistake by eating. That the lake was a stupid idea, that nobody want to be half naked and stared at. That he had only made me feel shittier with his mind-wrecking sessions. That he’ll be rotting in Azkaban surrounding by dementors before I’d let myself die.

I may not have been only speaking.

But I may have run out of his office in my underwear like a fucking psycho.

I’m sure everyone has heard me in the institute.

I’m sure everyone will have heard about my scene before tomorrow morning.

But I’m feeling better.

I needed the screaming and the crying.

I’ll consider apologising to him if he does first.

 

I’m going to bed, I’m exhausted.

                                                                                                     Love you,

                                                                                                               DM

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry,

It turns that today is a ‘surprise scale day’ but a real surprising one this time. Of course I knew they’ll have to weight me sooner than later after yesterday’s numbers. But I didn’t think they were going to show up in the breakfast room itself; I mean, they usually find us on our way to it, not when we’re already there.

I hate to say it/ write it to you but I may have been cheating a little bit since I’ve understood their routine. And they might have understood it too.

So here I was, picking some fruits when Angelica came and lead me to the mirror free scale-room, also known as nursery.

I may have lost a little bit more than 1kg by being caught without tips and tricks.  Do I have to say that they are all kinda mad at me now?

But I don’t really care. I am not here because of a weight contract. I have no obligation to gain any pounds. Everyone is already staring at me; they might at least like what they see.

I’m not saying what you think I am.

I am just saying that I kind of like my body the way it is, now. And maybe if I try a little bit harder and wait a little bit longer I will reach the perfection I was striving to?

There 99% chance that it’s the disease talking.

But what I saw yesterday in the mirror… if I lose a little bit more, if I get back to where I was before being locked in here and if I lose a little bit more again …

I know it isn’t healthy but who said that it had to? Isn’t there a muggle proverb saying “you have to hurt to be pretty”? If that’s how I want to look like, who are they to stop me?

I don’t know how to make you get it.

You know how you’d always had a thing for my cheekbones? I have a thing for my collarbones and upper ribs. It feels like having a butterfly under my skin.

The more bones I can see, the more bones I can touch, the purer I feel. I feel happier when my stomach is empty and I feel more confident too. If I can achieve that, why couldn’t I be able to do whatever I want with my life? I’ve survived a war I wasn’t supposed to, I’m living without 2500 kcal a day. What can’t I do if I try hard enough?

I don’t get why everyone is so pissed at me: I’m not starving myself, I’m eating enough not to faint, not to feel hungry. I might feel dizzy when I get up too quickly but after being crucio-ed for weeks that’s really nothing.

If I’m good with it, why can’t they be? My BMI isn’t that low. If I were at St Mungo it wouldn’t even be legal to keep me in against my will.

 

Dr R. wants to see me.

See you later.

                                                                                           DM

P.S: I hope you are not angry with me. I know I’m disappointing you a lot lately.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry,

 

I am grounded. I can’t stop rolling my eyes. Do they think I am a five years old?

Dr R. didn’t like hearing I was cheating.

 

He said he’s sorry for being too harsh on me yesterday but that he needed to push me a little bit stronger in order to make me move. I’ve apologized for the scene I’ve made.

He talked to Ellie. She’ll be expelled. I think Stella’s going to hate me a little bit more now, but maybe it will do her some good. In fact I hope. I really don’t like seeing her that way. She deserves far more than this.

 

We’ve talked about

I am not sure if I really should tell you everything about it. Of course they are things I need you to know but maybe you shouldn’t know that much.

I am sorry I’m a liability.

 

I maybe should stop addressing to you when I’m writing here. Those are not letters; those aren’t made to be read by anyone. They are just made to help me focus, clear my mind and feel a little bit less lonely. And for the record.

 

Muggle notebook,

 

Nah, that doesn’t feel right.

 

It’s exhausting, being always pissed at yourselves.

 

We’re making a deal now Harry. If I feel like letting you read all this one day, you’ll have to know and keep in mind that it’s a recovery tool. And that talking to you makes it less difficult. If you really were to read it… I wouldn’t write half of my thoughts on it. They are things I’d like you to read but they are some I’d like you to hear. And some none of the above.

 

I told Dr R. about not wanting to gain weight but still wanting to recover even if I have no clue on how to do both. I’ve told him that I liked my body that way and how I didn’t feel unhealthy; crazy of course, but not physically ill.

He told me for the i-can-t-even-remember-th time that I cannot do both. That in order to fight the disease I’ll have to gain weight/I’ll have to eat. He said he knows how hard I am struggling and he recognized I am really putting myself in.

He also said he’s going to have someone monitor me 24h/24 for a few days. He wants to know what gets into my body and what lefts it. He said it will help him understand my eating behaviour / ability a bit more and adjusts my meals.

He warned me I wouldn’t be allowed to face a mirror until … weeks maybe. And that they won’t tell me my weight anymore.

He said sorry for not being able to found out in would be too much triggering.

I think he meant he was sorry for thinking too much of me.

I think I have disappointed him too.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                              DM.

 

 

 

Harry,

It’s been 3 days I’m basically locked in my room. Of course they send me to the lunchroom every time and write down what I’m eating/drinking, how many times I bite everything etc.

It’s horrific. I can’t eat being watch. And everyone is watching me. And I am not only talking about the assistant being my back 24/24. The other patients can’t help gazing. I’m the only one monitored that way. It’s obviously not a good sign.

I’m trying but it’s hard.

                                                                                                               DM

 

 

 

 

Harry,

They say I’m still losing weight.

They can’t force me to eat if I won’t/don’t/can’t.

I try but it seems that every time I swallow it gets stuck inside my throat. I’ve even thrown up in the middle of the lunch room yesterday. I can’t bear it anymore.

My body doesn’t want me to eat, what can I do against it?

I’m missing Antony so much. He would’ve found something to cheer me up.

Isabel is trying to. She makes sure everyone keeps their nose on their own business. I am thankful of her.

She said that maybe it was because of the crucios, that maybe it had disrupted something within me. I don’t think it has anything to do with it but it was nice of her.  

I’m not giving up.

Not yet.

                                                                                                               DM

 

 

 

Harry,

Today is finally a good day: I’m stable.

I think I am approx. at the weight I was when I came in (I’ve caught a glimpse of my chart).

I’m not cheating anymore since I’ve been caught. I really want things to work.

I can feel the butterfly when I put my hand over it but if I want it to stay inside of me I cannot lose any more weight.

I’m not sure I’ll be able to get out of here for Hogwarts’s battle’s anniversary. I’m sorry. I know how much you hate this day.

                                                                                                      DM

 

 

 

 

Harry,

A good new, again!

Isabel is going out next week so she’s asked Dr R. to let me go out with her on Friday. He said yes so we’ll go eating in this small wizard town not far from here. I’m looking forward to it.

 

(You can be happy about it Potter: I’m saying I am looking forward to eating. In public furthermore.

I am sorry it takes me that much time, but I will recover.

And I will finally be able to get out of here and see you again.

I miss you.

                                                                                                     DM

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry,

It’s Friday: I’m writing to you from the terrace of a little restaurant while Isabel is powdering her nose. It’s sunny today and believe it or not I am smiling. I’ve missed the sun, missed the way the wind can blow so lightly. I’ve missed the way passers-by walked without glancing and how the youngers run and yell now that the weather is softer. I’ve missed the outer world.

I’ve always loved cities and their agitation; I’ve always felt better out there than in the silence surrounding the Manor and the village. Isn’t it strange that I’m feeling more peaceful in the noise and chaos of a town than at home next to the forest, deep in the land? Maybe I’ll try to live in a city. Maybe we could…

I am also considering taking you out to Italia or South France when it’ll be over. Or maybe I’ll show you Paris. As long as you can taste their coffee on those little terraces they adore so much; even if you can practically smell your neighbour perfume.

 

Dreams aside, I’ve been perfect at lunch. I’ve eaten and made conversation as I was educated to. It felt a little bit like home -Mother used to be an incredible hostess and her tea parties have always been captivating. I know it might sound snobbish but all of those afternoons were brilliant to me: everything and everyone there were delicate, accurate and graceful. Exception made of those in the early summer when they were wearing hats. (Sweet Merlin, if you had seen those hats!) but I doubt I’ll live it again.

 

I feel normal again, Harry. It seems like I can talk without thinking twice about the consequence, feels like I can eat without being afraid of throwing up and I hope it’ll stay this way.

 

 

Isabel is coming back.

I love you.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                              DM.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry,

We’re back.

I don’t understand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve been re-reading it since I get back to the institute. It still makes no sense.

 

 

 

 

 

It really makes no sense at all. It can’t be true.

But it seems so true.

If it had only been a gossip there wouldn’t be any pictures, right?

If it was only in one tabloid it would’ve mean nothing, wouldn’t it?

If this wasn’t true, it wouldn’t be everywhere …

Fuck it Harry I’ve even checked the damned Quibbler!

How?

I I just can’t get it.

It doesn’t seem like you at all.

You wouldn’t have done that to me. Or to anyone.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry,

I’ve slept in. I’ve hoped it was only a trick of my brain.

It’s obviously not.

The pictures are still here, moving around as if

As if they weren’t breaking my heart.

 

 

 

She really looks pretty, this Eleanor O’Connor.

She really is.

And there’s no doubt that you’re the boy holding her hand.

You’re looking fine. That’s good.

I mean, it’s fine that you’re looking healthy and alive. It’s fine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s been two days and I can’t think of anything else.

 

The girl who saved the Saviour from the Death Eater.

Harry’s new love interest.

I think you hate it, being in every paper, again. Or maybe you hated it that much because you were dating me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I don’t understand Harry. I mean, I understand but I don’t.

That makes no sense.

I’m sure she’s far better than me. And I know for sure you deserve the best.

 

I am sorry I thought I meant a little bit more to you. I thought that you would have the consideration to inform me of our break up before being caught on papers.

I’m sorry I thought I meant something.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe it will be wiser to stop talking to you.

I don’t want to talk to you. Ever.

I know there’s a world between now and ever but I can’t think of a time where it wouldn’t hurt like hell anymore.

I’m not doing fine in terms of being a functional being but I think you don’t care anymore.

Maybe you’re not even thinking about me anymore.

I’m thinking about you all the time. It’s not fair.

I guess I deserve it. It’s only fair after everything I’ve done.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry

 

 

 

I thought you were my one and only one.

 

 

 

I have to admit that it’s true.

We’re over.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Muggle Notebook,

It’s been days now. I’ve lost count. I’m absolutely clueless.

I don’t know what day it is. I’m not 100% sure whether it’s night or day.

I don’t fucking care anymore, to be true.

 

Dr R. asked me to get out of my bed. I got. But he hadn’t asked anything else so I just spent hours sitting on the floor.

 

People went in and out. Wizards mostly. People able to understand why my ex-boyfriend is in front-page cover.

It’s hard for them, insulting the Saviour.

I understand.

There’s no need to insult him.

I deserve it.

He had no choice. He can’t get into any wizard place without being recognized so how was he supposed to live his new romance otherwise?

I’m supposed to be locked up.

I would have liked it very much if Mother had informed me instead of those nasty papers.

 

 

Dr R. wants me to write again. So I am.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to write.

Is he asking me if I’m feeling it? Does he want me to speak my mind?

There’s nothing else to say.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Muggle Notebook

It felt like I was going to love him until my breathing stops.

I have nothing else to write.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN

I’m monitored again.

Dr R. told me he’s going to firecall Mother. He said I’m not giving him any other options.

He said I can’t let a boy ruins everything I’ve fought for this last months.

He can’t understand.

If it wasn’t because of Harry I wouldn’t be alive right now.

He’s the reason why I thought I could seek for forgiveness and redeem myself. He saw the light within me.

I think he did.

I’m not really sure anymore.

 

I let him talk.

I let everyone talk.

I don’t care.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

They keep asking me “why”

They’ve never understood that “why not” was the good question.

I like my days better when I’m sleeping and numbing everything away.

Bet I’m not what I thought I was.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN

Dr R. wants me to fight. I told him I have no clues what he wants me to fight against. He’s not happy and seems preoccupied.

The couch on his office is soft and it’s always warm there.

I felt asleep during our last session.

When I woke up Mother was sitting beside me, stroking my hair.

 

I’m cold Harry. I am so cold.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I am not doing fine: Mother’s still in Dr R.’s office while I’ve been send back to my own room. It’s been 2 hours now. I thought that she’d be here as I woke up. I’d have liked her to be. I’ve made strange dreams.

I don’t know why they are taking this long. “Your son isn’t eating” doesn’t take 2 hours to be said. Maybe I forgot to drink sometimes too. And I’m constantly napping or sleeping.

“Your son is a failure” doesn’t take that long neither.

 

  

 

 

DMN,

I can’t process it: they want to send me to St Mango.

Dr R. said he cannot do anything else for me. He said I will get the help I need there. I’ve tried to explain to him that he was helping me and that I didn’t want to leave but he’s not seeing things that way. Told me that right now I am not in need of a psych. That I need my body to be taken care of. Mother agreed with him. She doesn’t want to see me like that.

 

I hate them so much right now.

I hate them I hate them !!

 

It’s as if no one wanted to stay with me. As if I was disappointing everyone. She doesn’t want to see me like that. Like what? I have no fucking clue of what I look like! What is it that she doesn’t like? My hair? Are they too long? Or is it because my clothes are too loose now? Is it the way my bones have taken up the place?

What is it, huh?

I don’t see my fucking reflection but I fucking know I’ve never been skinnier. My skin is just a bag to hold my bones. They will pierce it and then I’ll be free.

Or is it because her son isn’t there anymore? Does she dislike the walking skeleton I’ve become?

Would have she liked it better if I had turn into a ghost as Father?

 

 

I don’t want to leave. I want Harry. I want one of Antony’s hug.

I want everything to be ok or I don’t want to be anymore.

 

Dr R. is standing in the doorway. I have nothing to say aloud. Nothing that matters anymore. Hope he’ll be happy knowing I’m writing this stupid diary.

I feel his gaze and I don’t want to look up at him again. I don’t want him to see me crying. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t hold on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

That’s it. I’m in the car, waiting to leave the institute. We’re heading to the nearest floo. I’ve got my things pack up in the back of my drawer there. I’ll be able to come back later. I’ve said my goodbyes. It was harder than I thought even with Isabel gone for days.

I’m still upset at Dr R. I trusted him.

I don’t know if he let me down or if I had let him first.  

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I’ve been authorized to keep you with me. Even if the nurses here are criticizing Dr R. they seem to agree with him upon the use of a diary.

 

It’s been a very long day since I’ve left the institute and they’ve lost no time. Barely there I was already stripped down by strangers. Strangers who know who I’ve been. They’ve stripped me down, dressed me up in their atrocious gown pretending not to see the Dark Mark incrusts in my forearm. They all know about my scars as they were made public during my trials so instead of the pity I was getting at the institute I receive silence. They’ve seen my body and acted as if the only thing wrong with it was is frame.

They’ve weighted me (30) and made comments on how I really have to eat. The oldest mediwitch seemed merciful as she glared toward the youngers, making them shut up.

 

Since then I’m alone in my room. Mother had to stay outside until the healer examines me.

 

Maybe that’s it.

Maybe there’s nothing wrong.

Maybe I’ve really deserved the scars.

I’ve deserved the sectumsempra. I’ve been an absolute idiot all my life. It was only fair. If he hadn’t hit me with it I don’t know what could’ve happen. _Murder in the bathroom. Murder in the bathroom._

I’ve earned Aunt Bella’s words. They’re what’s left of my once bravery.

Did I deserve the crucios ? I did. I’ve failed the Dark Lord, he sought revenge. I’ve deserved the crucios and all of their others hexes. Or maybe I’ve earned them. I don’t know.

I deserve the burnt calf. I’m thankful it’s a small one.

 

The Hr is here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear MN,

It’s pretty early in the morning.

I couldn’t write more after the Hr’s visit.

 

 

It was awful.

He had a trainee.

A fucking girl I remember from Hogwarts.

 

She had to take a blood test. I am so thankful we’re in a wizard hospital. If she had had to find a vein I think she would have collapsed. She couldn’t look at my left arm.

It’s a mediwitch who inserted the IV. In my right arm too. Now there’s a bottle of glucose solution slowly dripping in my blood. Glucose = sugar. They are feeding my brain.

 

 

Today’s going to be worse.

They’re going to put a tube down my throat. It won’t hurt, they said. They’re going to put a thing down my throat via my nostril but it won’t hurt. They’re going to drive it through my stomach to my intestine. And they’re going to let it there until I’m

Until I’ve gained enough weight.

 

I couldn’t sleep, thinking about it.

 

 

And I have no right to say no.

They have been pretty clear upon this precise point.

Mother and Hr M. have decided to hospitalize me against my will. My BMI is low enough for it.

Fuck it. If I’ve been 2 kg heavier it would have been illegal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

They have mirror in their bathroom. It’s the first time since … since weeks I see myself.

 

It isn’t the first time I’ve cried over myself nor the first time I cry because I am scared or afraid of what I’ve become.

But it doesn’t hurt less when the 3 are combined.

 

I know I used to be pretty.

There’s nothing pretty left here. There’s nothing pretty in being so close to death.

 

I can see my own heart beating.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

Finally there’s something good in being hospitalized in St Mango. Visits are allowed, under restrictions of course, but still allowed.

I’m going to see Mother. And maybe even Pansy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

It wasn’t something good.

It was atrocious.

 

Mother did her best to hide her feelings under our Malfoy composure but still it didn’t drain the pain.

Pansy couldn’t stay inside of my room. Mother followed her in the corridor and I’ve heard them cry.

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I’ve tried to rip the tube out.

It’s too much.

I can’t take it.

 

They are the person I love the most and I cannot not hurt them.

 

 

The mediwitch had talked about tying my arms to the bed if I do this again.

I’ve tried to explain them it’s not what they think it’s about.

I don’t care about the hundreds of calories they are drowning me in. But it’s hurting my mom.

I’m hurting my mom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

Mother came back again today. I’ve told her how sorry I was. I promised her I’ve never wanted to hurt her. She said I just have to eat and let the healers do their jobs. She knows I tried to rip the tube. She doesn’t understand why I’ve done it.

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I’m letting the healers and mediwitch/wizards work.

I’m talking when they ask me too but I’m mostly staying silent.

There is nothing more to say.

Pansy made me promise to try my best to recover.

But she doesn’t understand.

They are not trying to fix my brain here. They only want my BMI to be ok again so they could send me back to Dr R.

They don’t care about fixing me, they’re just afraid I’ll die.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I think I’m already dead inside.

 

 

 

 

DMN,

Mother came again.

I hope the tube is working. I hope she sees a few less bones.

 

I’m too tired to want anything.

I wish they could put me to sleep and wake me up when I’m 50kg again.

It’s exhausting fighting for each breath.

 

 

I am so sorry.

I hope she knows I’m trying.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

Today was a good day.

Mother sent me Blaise.

I repeat: Blaise Zabini put his foot in a hospital wing.

He told me she’s the one according visit’s rights, with Hr M. approval of course.

 

He told me the staff members are on their toes: the girl from Hogwarts wasn’t able to keep her mouth shut and told someone who told someone who told the press about my presence here. She lost her internship and the security level has been upped. Blaise is absolutely excited by it. I think he’s still looking for fame.

Anyway, it was nice having him by my side.

He didn’t try to fool myself or pretend everything was fine. He pretty much did the opposite.

But he made me laugh, the sarcastic bastard. He said the way they’ve put the tube behind my ear was kinda sexy; but that he won’t wear any if they can’t find a colour that would suits him better. He even said I still had my chances at getting laid if I asked him nicely. He didn’t like my answer.

 

 

He told me about Potter. He didn’t know I already knew. He said he’s lucky to be the Saviour. Swore that if any other guy had treated me that way he wouldn’t be able to breathe again.

It was nice of him to say, but it still hurt like hell. He ended up lying by my side in this ridiculous hospital bed, waiting for my eyes to be dried before commenting on how thankful he was that I was taking that little place.

 

It felt nice having him teasing me as he always did. It feels nice having someone who still sees me. Who still remembers I’m existing beside my disease.

 

I’ve missed my friend.

He promised I’ll be back. And that he’s going to find a way to get me out of here; he wants me to go to his family French summerhouse.

 

 

 

 

I’m missing you Harry.

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

They want me to try to eat.

Hr M. made it pretty clear that I’m going to keep the tube until I’m over 45 but that my stomach needs to work in the meantime if I want to be able to keep a normal size meal when I’ll have to.

He said I can eat whatever I want: he doesn’t care for now about my ‘oral’ calorie intake as long as I’m able to keep it.

He said I have to learn how to eat again and that we’re going to start from the basis: bite, chew, swallow, and keep it inside. The nutritious part will be in a later lesson. Maybe at the institute if I’m doing well enough (he was kinda sceptic about the institute part).

 

He asked me how I was feeling, now that I’m being nourished. Better, I had told him: I am sleeping a little less, I don’t feel like falling every time I get up and mostly I don’t feel like my ribcage is going to explode under the furious beating of my heart. The permanent nausea is gone too, thankfully.

He said that was food do to our organism. It keeps us alive.

 

I’ve asked him how long I am going to stay here. He said until I’m not able to wrap my hand around my arm anymore, fingers touching each other. I’m fucked up.

 

 

 

 

DMN,

Trying to eat is hard.

 

I’ve seen Mother today. I don’t know why she comes that often. I’m happy to see her, I’ve missed her; but I’m not sure if it’s doing us any good.

We have nothing to talk about.

I don’t want to talk about food and she doesn’t want to talk about Father now that he’s back to Azkaban.

So we’re talking about Pansy and Blaise.

She said she used to think I’ll end up dating him instead of Potter.

Narcissa Malfoy, née Black then covered her mouth in horror. This woman, the woman who lied in the face of the most powerful dark wizard ever, is afraid of talking to her own son.

 

I’m not sure if that can mean something else than: my boy is so fragile that the bare fact of hearing his ex-boyfriend’s name could kill him.

 

How did I achieve that?

How did I fail her to that extreme?

 

I’m so pathetic. I’m such a pity.

I’m disgusting.

A shame to the Malfoy’s name. And considering the state of grace it’s in, that means a lot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I’ve wake up thinking I could eat today.

But then I saw the Mark and I didn’t feel like I deserve it anymore.

I know I am hurting people I love.

But there is no way I could ever disappear without hurting my mom.

Pansy and Blaise would get through it. I would not be the first of us to die. But then there wouldn’t be any Death Eater walking freely. There wouldn’t be anyone to carry the Malfoy name around. There wouldn’t be anyone to be a Black anymore too. I could end the lineage of the darkest part of my family’s tree.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

Harry wrote to me today.

I don’t know how he knew. It may be Pansy. But I don’t care.

Harry wrote to me today.

 

Dear Draco,

I have started this letter a million times over already, trying to find the best way to explain things and apologise. But I doubt there really is a ‘best way’ for these kind of things. I just fucked up. And I don’t mean I fucked up by cheating on you or accidentally kissing someone else because I didn’t! I swear, I didn’t. There was this big illegal potion ring I had to help take down, and the best way to do that was get into the inner circle of the dealers by pretending (pretending!) to date one of their sisters.

I say best way, but what I mean is worst. Even though you are all I think about, it just never occurred to me that the press might see me and O’Connor. That they’d twist my actions to do good into something that hurt you so bad.

I hate myself for letting this happen because from the moment I found out about your illness all I’ve wanted to do was help you. But instead I’ve only made things worse.

I don’t know how to fix this. The only thing I can think of, is say that I wish with all my heart that I had never kissed O’Connor.

I never meant to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt the people I love, but somehow I still do. And maybe I hurt you this bad because I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life.

But I won’t say that this is fate being cruel, because I have to take full responsibility for what I did. You’re so brave Draco, and so much stronger than people give you credit for. As a reward for all that you should be able to just focus on getting better and nothing else. I fucked that up for you.

I’m so sorry.

But please Draco, believe me when I say that it was 100% a work thing. That the only person my heart has ever belonged to is you. I miss you a bit more every single day, but that pain was eased a bit before because I knew you were fighting. And though I know I deserve all the pain, I still hope you can find it in you to put up a fight again.

You don’t have to do it for me. You don’t even have to be with me anymore if what I did hurt too much. But please, do it for yourself. I know for sure you have a brilliant life ahead of you, but you have to be alive to see it.

 

 I love you, and I’m sorry for fucking up.

X~Harry

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Muggle Notebook,

I am in love.

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I hate Blaise Zabini.

He was the first one to come; I had to talk about Harry’s letter. I had to know if something had been published about that case being closed.

I had to know if I could ask to see Harry.

 

Zabini didn’t take it that way.

He mostly laughed. Said that it didn’t mean anything. That it was just a fuckin letter.

He said that if he was Harry and if he knew how bad I was doing (thanks mate) he would’ve apparated in St Mango. He said this letter is just a pile of shit to make him feel better.

He then proceeded to ask me what “pretend to date someone” could means in term of actions. If I was stupid enough to think that he had only kissed her in the months they appear to be together. Reminded me **I** was the Slytherin Ice Prince for a reason and that **he** wasn’t.

 

I told him to shut the fuck up and to get screw somewhere else.

He said he was only trying to help.

He said I shouldn’t choose between life and death over a boy’s affection. He said he didn’t care rather Harry loves me or not because I wasn’t more worthy in one case than in the other.

He said I fucking need to sort out my priorities.

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I haven’t been able to think about anything else. I’ve read this letter so many times I know it by heart.

I don’t believe in anything Blaise said. But he cares for me and I cannot repudiate his anger at Harry. He’s doing the best he can to protect me. As he always did.

 

 

 

DMN,

Hr M. wants to know what’s on my mind. He said there shouldn’t be anything else than recovery.

Asked him how I am supposed to be cured of my obsession toward food if I can’t think about anything else.

I think he liked me better when I was unable to be.

 

 

 

 

DMN,

Mother came today.

She didn’t cry.

She even looked a little less concerned. The bags under her eyes are slowly disappearing.

Hr M. told her I haven’t been able to eat anything that demands chewing but that I’m not having problem drinking soups. He also told her I wasn’t focusing on my recovery. I said he was a cunt and that I was. Focussing I mean. Right, I know I am a cunt too.

I admitted out loud that it had been harder, lately. Because of Potter. It saddened her but I know she needed to hear it. She needed to hear I was willing to let myself die because of my first heartbreak.

She needed to know I hadn’t given up on life, dot. She needed to know it was because of a heartbreak and not because of the disease.

She needed to hear I won’t let it happen again.

 

I showed her the letter, too.   

I wanted her to know what kind of guy Harry is. I wanted her to know how he could never hurt me, deliberately.

I told her I was in love with him and that being loved in return was something I never think I could live. I told her the same things boys have told their mother since the origin of love.

She had the right to know why it has hurt so badly.

I may have lied. I saw her eyes bright, watery. She understood.

 

She told me she was happy I found a guy like Harry.

She told me she was happy.

 

 

It has been weeks, months, since I haven’t seen Mother smile for real.

Thank you for that, too, Harry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I’ve asked to see Dr R.

Healer M. was outraged. I really think it’s more than pure dislike between the two of them. I think Hr M. thinks Dr R. doesn’t know his job. Or maybe it’s because he’s working with Muggles. I’m afraid of questioning this.

Anyway, he said yes and Dr R. agreed to meet me once every two days in order to pursue our work.

I would really like to be authorized to go back to the institute, even with the tube still in me. If I could go back there and keep my right to see Mother, Pans and B, it would be perfect.

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I saw Dr R. today.

Said I look better. When I frowned he told me I had really scared them.

I haven’t gained back the weight I had lost since th

Since

I haven’t gained back those 10kg so he won’t let me back in now. But he promised to talk about it with Mother and Hr M.

 

I want this to be the last time I try.

I know I have already wrote that too many times.

But I really believe in it each time.

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I’m sorry for not writing that much lately.

It’s been hard but I’m doing it.

St Mungo has group activities, too. I wasn’t authorized to participate until recently because I wasn’t really able to leave my room for too long -shaky legs and dirty blood pressure. But now I am.

We are cooking, mostly. Painting, twice a week -I don’t know what they all have with painting-. And dancing. We are trying to figure out how little space we are taking and how much we are supposed to. We are learning to find beauty in our gesture and to realise how magnificent the human body is.

The cooking is the funniest: we are never force to eat. It’s absolutely up to us. If we want to taste the batter, we can. If we want to lick every tool we used before washing them, we can. If we want to wait for the cake to be cold, we can. If we don’t want to eat, we can. No one says anything. It’s my favourite group because it’s the one that makes me feel the more normal. We’re just a bunch of young people having fun with food. It’s not the symbol of the war inside of our head. It’s not the absolute symbol of our illness or the sword to recovery. It’s just food.

And I really like it that way.

 

 

I’ve been gaining weight and someday it’s really hard. But someday I just don’t really care about it. Today I don’t care about it.

I know I am far away from being cure, I’m still stuck at eating liquids and veggie but I am still trying. I’m also better at avoiding my bathroom than before.

And when it feels too hard I have Harry’s letter to cheer me up.

 

I am making it.

I will be 40 soon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

Blaise came to see me today.

He told me Pansy told him that she heard from Granger that Harry’s case will be close anytime soon. I hope it means I’ll be able to see him anytime soon.

 

I’ve apologized for losing my temper and he said he’ll apologize when he’ll be sure that Harry wasn’t faking it. Told him I understand. That’s what friends are for.

He said I look better, still awful, but better.

I caught him staring at my fingers while I was absentmindedly playing with the gap between the edges of my hand bones. I think it scared him a little bit. I really have to lose the habit of touching my bones when I’m pondering or just simply flowing out. Hopefully I’ve been dressing up in regular clothes again. I don’t want to know what conclusion he could’ve drawn if I was playing with my collarbones…

 

I’ve asked after Pansy. After all, if she the one who told him about hearing from Granger, it means that he had talk to her, right?

He said she doesn’t want to see me.

He said she can’t handle it.

He said she asks about me after each one of his visit.

He said that she’s sending me her love.

 

I’ve asked about the handling part. I’ve asked why she wasn’t visiting me now that I’m doing better.

He laughed. A soft and sad laughter.

He told me that doing better and doing fine were two such different things and that he won’t bring her back here until I’m doing fine. And that there is no way that “my” better was good enough. He said he hadn’t seen me when I’ve just been transferred here, days before the nutritive mixture flowing up my tubes began to be more about recovery than survival, but that she has, and it was too much for her. He said that it gave her nightmares. Nightmares were she was eaten alive by something which looked like me; skeletal and empty. He said he’s happy not having seen me at my worse because my better isn’t that fun to look at. And that if I was thinking otherwise, I was completely fooling myself.

 

He said she tried to come back but she couldn’t.

 

He said he promised to accompany her as soon as I’ll be fine.

I asked him to tell her how sorry I was.

 

I haven’t really stopped crying since then.

 

 

 

 

 

I want to get out of here.

I want to get back home.

I want Mother. And Harry.

I want Pansy to be ok.

 

I am so sorry.   

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

There are some good in being at St Mango rather than at the institute: it’s a magical place.

They have firecalled Mother. She’s on her way.

I think they won’t allow Blaise to visit me anymore.

  

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

They let me spent the night at the Manor if Mother promised not to let me see anyone and that I’ll be back by noon with my tube down my gut. She did, of course.

I needed it. I’m feeling better now.

I’ve felt asleep in her bed. I know I’m too old for this but who cares?

My best friend is having nightmares because of me.

I can’t gain weight without help.

I can’t eat more than half a dessert plate.

I’m a disaster.

 

But now I’m back in St M.

Mother told me she’ll try to have me transferred to Dr R. institute.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

Hr M. said I can go back to the institute. He and Dr R. agreed over my treatment.

I’m keeping the tube until I reach 45, then I’ll have to at least maintain my weight. If I cannot they will put it back. He said I haven’t reached the hardest part yet. He said I really have to try to eat more in the meantime because as soon as they will take the tube out, food will be my only source of nutriment.

He said that if I fall back at 40 again, I’ll be back at St Mango. He said that this time Dr R. won’t wait for me to die to have me transferred.

I think he’s a little harsh on Dr R. I wasn’t dying.

He shook his head.

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I’ve packed my things this morning. I’m with Mother, waiting for a cab to take us to the institute. I’m not used to Muggle’s conveyance yet, it takes too much time.

I’m freezing my arse and people are starting to stare. We’re on the limits between the wizarding and the muggle words and Malfoy have always been easily recognized; furthermore I look disastrous, even under my scarf. Hopefully I don’t have to travel with the IV stand.

 

Mother said it won’t be long now.

I hope it. I think I’ve saw a boy from Gryffindor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

That’s it! Finally back to my old room. Some of the guys I knew are still here. Stella’s still here too. She looks better now. I’m still trying to process this information.  She’s really prettier now and I just can’t stop wandering how she did it. How did she make it from walking skeleton to pretty and healthy teenage girl without falling apart? It made me feel ashamed. Back in St M. I thought I was making progress again. Blaise was right, I was just fooling myself. I’m not doing any better: I have a tube down my throat to recall to everyone that I am unable to eat. And I still keep on forgetting it myself.

 

I’m sitting at my desk, wondering how Antony would have felt, seeing me coming back like that.

I thought that I was doing better but I haven’t gained a pound since I’ve walked in here for the first time.

 

 

I’ve got a new roommate; Edward. He’s here in order to stop cutting himself in pieces. I think that’s a good reason.

He’s a muggle.

I don’t know why but I would have liked it better if he wasn’t.

I want someone to despise me.

 

 

 

 

DMN,

Dr R. asked to read my last entries, in order to know what I’ve been through at St M. I’m not sure he’s going to like what he’ll be reading.

I’m stressed and scared.

I’m scared I’m never going to get through it.

 

It’s been months and I’m still at 40.

It’s been months and I’m still better at losing weight than gaining.

 

I’m really not feeling fine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

Dr R. didn’t like what he read, as expected.

He said I really need to cheer myself up.

He said I should read Harry’s letter more often.

 

 

I’ve read it again.

I think Harry’s making a mistake. He can have anyone. Why would he choose me?

I’m nothing.

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

Today is a

I’m going to see Harry today.

Not in person, not really.

It’s Dr R.’s idea. Harry’s case isn’t closed yet so he can’t come here but thanks to a muggle device called laptop, I’ll be able to see him and talk to him without frightening my roommate by talking to a fire.

I’m not sure I understood everything very well but I don’t care: Harry knows how to use a laptop...

I knew I had to get back to the institute. Dr R. is the best.

 

 

DMN,

I saw him. He was right there. It was even better than firecalls.

He was right there in front of me.

He looked exhausted but he said that the case will be over soon. A week or two.

I can’t wait to see him, for real. I want to feel him so badly, to fall asleep in his arms. I want to spend days locked in his embrace. I’m missing him so much.

 

He apologized again about O’Connor. Said that he didn’t want to hurt me. I said it was ok now. That I was delighted it was only a work thing. That I was sorry for not being able to answer to his letter.

 

He told me to take care of myself and to keep fighting. To keep fighting until I was worn out.

Told him I already was.

He told me to breathe and to calm down.

He told me it was ok. He told me I didn’t have to do this alone anymore. He told me he’s going to come here as soon as he could.

But that I have to keep fighting in the meantime.

He told me it was normal to be exhausted, to feel down and angry.

 

I’ve told him about Pansy.

 

He told me he loves me. I’ve answered that I love him more. He said he didn’t see a way I could love more than he does. He said he missed me every single day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I don’t know what I’ve been expecting of this call.

He seemed happy to see me and I am

I am crying since he hangs up.

 

There’s no happy ending to us.

And it feels like it’s all my fault.

 

I’m hurting him so much. I’ve seen the way he’d looked at me. The way his fingers had burned him to touch the screen.

I know he’s going to worry even more now than before.

He hasn’t seen me in months. And when he can finally see me I’m not doing any better. I’m still at 40. He doesn’t know I’ve been able to go up to 47. All he knows is that I’ve been down to 30. That I’ve stopped fighting. That I’ve stopped eating. That I’ve ended up with this tube down my throat.

And I’m sure he thinks it’s because of him.

 

When it’s all because of me.

It’s all because of me.

 

 

 

DMN,

I’m trying not to get drown by my own emotions.

I’m talking a lot to Dr R. It’s like I’m vomiting words instead of speaking. I just can’t keep them inside of me anymore.

I need to let them out or they’ll end up rotting me from the inside.

 

I confessed my sins.

I professed my guilt and told him how little I could stand hurting the people I love the most.

I told him about the Manor, about having Luna in my cave and not being able to free her.

I told him about 6th year, about having to choose between killing Dumbledore or having my parents killed by the Lord -between killing Dumbledore or killing my parents. How delighting it felt when Harry hexed me. And how badly it had hurt. I told him about trying and trying again, torn apart between succeeding and failing, torn apart between losing in each case. How I just couldn’t do anything right, anything for the good anymore.

How dreadful I’ve felt for all that atrocious year.

I told him about 7th year, about seeing those people getting tortured and killed under my gaze. I told him about getting tortured under my own father’s gaze. I told him about locking myself up in my bedroom every night but never feeling safe.

I told him everything. From the beginning to the end.

From the hope and the love to the despair and the fear.

I’ve talked and talked until I wasn’t able to anymore. Until there was no word left in my throat.

 

I’m crying a lot lately.

And sleeping a lot, exhausted as I am. But when I wake up, I always feel a little bit better.

 

 

**I’m letting the butterfly heads to the hills.**

 

 

 

DMN,

Dr R. said he’s proud of me.

He says I have earned a visit.

He says that if I don’t screw everything up in the meantime, he will allow a black haired boy with strange glasses to come here.

He says the boy hasn’t stop asking for days.

I’ve cried again.

 

 

 

DMN,

Harry finally came today.

Sweet Merlin it felt so good.

He was here.

 

I didn’t think I could have missed someone’s voice so much.

I was in the nursery when I’ve heard his and hopefully Angelica was done freeing me from the nutrition bag because I’ve just ran to him without thinking about anything else. I caught him out of guard and he caught me out of breath. That wasn’t very romantic but I don’t care. He was finally there.

 

We spend the biggest part of the afternoon lying in my bed, cuddling and nestling, saying sweet nothing and whispering _I love you_ s to echo to the _I need you_ s.

He slipped a hand under my shirt and skimmed over my bones, making a map of my skeleton’s outline. I’ve missed the warmth and softness of his skin but I didn’t like the look in his eyes. This sad look doesn’t belong in his bright eyes.

I put his hand over my heart and told him that as long as he could feel his beatings, I’ll be fighting. He seemed to like that. I can’t remember a time when he kissed me more eagerly.

 

 

He stayed for dinner. This was the part I was the most stressed about. It’s something seeing me with the tube on. It’s something else when the tube is linked to the nutrition bag, which hangs on a stand. Then I look even ill-er. 

But he said nothing. He stayed silent as the assistant connected me. He waited for us to be alone again to ask me if that hurt.

I think he was most stressed about what how I was going to be during dinner itself. I think I’ve done well. I’ve eaten my (little) plate, but I’ve eaten it and even took some fruits for dessert.

 

He stuck around till it was time for me to go to bed. We played games with the other (Tobias was really excited to meet him), but only games allowing me to stay next to him.

 

The sad look in his eyes was gone as I kissed him goodnight.

He still looks worried, but not sad anymore.

 

 

I’ve missed him so much.

I can’t wait for the next visit.

 

 

 

 

I love him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

That’s it, I’m 45 again.

I’m allowed to take the tube out of me.

I’ve asked to firecall Mother, to let her know the good news.

She said she’s proud of me. I told her I was, too.

And I told her that I love her, and that I was sorry for not saying it more frequently.

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I am waiting to weight at least 50 before calling Pansy.

I know how badly I’ve hurt her, and I know I still have a long road to walk before being free. But at 50 I’ll be allowed to go outside.

Blaise still wants me to go to his French summer house. Dr R. said why not, as long as I sleep at the institute every night.

 

 

**I’m letting the butterfly heads to the hills.**

DMN,

I was allowed to go out with Angelica today in order to do some shopping: I’ve talked to Dr R. about St M’s cooking group’s activity and he said it could be useful here too. Furthermore he seemed pretty happy to have me “creating” it. I am proving to everybody than I am fully focused on my recovery, no matter what I’ve been through lately.

He made a face saying ‘I cannot believe my ears’ when I’ve told him about how it would help everybody here: those who needs to remember that food is only food, and those who need to find out the small glimpse of joy in every little day things.

My progresses are showing.

 

But I had forgotten how triggering the outer world could be, being locked in for the last past months…

It’s not easy, fighting against a mental illness when everything remembers you of its existence… when every little can make you want to blow your mind -or at least, to stop eating and hide away until you’re a skeleton again.

I know I shouldn’t say that, but I wish I could have been alcoholic instead. Or something like that. Because fighting a disease which uses food as a weapon against you … that’s very not fair.

          Walk in the street and breathe: breathe the smell of the bakery’s fresh bread, the meals on the restaurants’ terrace, or worse the fast food. The chicken in the outside steakhouse. Try to breathe and not feel overwhelmed by the smell. Try to breathe and not feel like puking or worse, eating. Try to walk and not run away. Try not to think about it because at the second you’ll have started, the voices in your mind will start, too. They can stay silent but they also can be so loud and, when they’ve been awake, they can’t stop criticizing you and making lists of all the reason why you shouldn’t eat; you’re fat, you don’t deserve it etc.

          If you are lucky enough not to smell anything you’ll have to get through the fact that eating is also a social construct: want to hang out with someone? You’ll have to eat or drink. Even in fancy tea party. And the voices would be here again and maybe if the calories aren’t a trigger anymore, you could simply be ashamed of eating in from of everyone. And this point is hurting so much.

I’ve lost so many moments, so much time of my life because I’ve had to say “no” to people in order to say “no” to food. I could’ve been dancing, drinking and kissing a black haired boy instead of freezing my skinny ass under tons of blanket in my Slytherin dorm.

          But if your nose isn’t working and you don’t have any meeting, don’t worry, there’re still so many other way to be triggered, like seeing someone skinny on a street, or catch a glimpse of your reflection.

          You also don’t have to be outside. You can climb the stairs and watch where you put your feet; you’ll then have to see your tights and how disgusting and fat they are. Bodychecking outside is harder than inside, I admit it, but sometimes you will just need to know if you really had get this fat or if it’s just some kind of ED’s dysmorphophobia.

 

 

          As if the voices inside our heads messing with our thoughts weren’t disturbing enough.

As if it wasn’t hard enough to fight against it at each meals, at each bites.

 

I wake up and feel the waistband of my PJ against my hips: I have gained weight.

I undress and think about weighting myself. Just to know.

I get dressed and my clothes are fitting me a little bit better: I’ve gained weight.

I want to check my outfit in the mirror but I can’t, as I would then see my reflection. As I would have to face my body.

I walk down to breakfast balancing the pros and cons of eating it/skipping it. Oh the goods of skipping it… I’ve gained weight, I shouldn’t eat it. Just skipping it would allow me not to lose but not to gain. But then at lunch I would ask me the same question again, until dinner when skipping would definitely means losing weight.

I ate breakfast: I’m a fat cow, a failure, I can’t control myself. I will never be enough. I will always be too much. I’m getting fatter at every bites.

I go pee and think about shoving my fingers down my throat and wonder why I’ve never done that.

It’s not 9 am that I already have to fight against too many parasite thoughts.

 

I eat and calculate my calorie intake. I exercise and wonder how many cals I’m burning. And then I can wonder about anything and everything: the cals in my feather for ex.  Or how many is consumed when I sneeze.

If I am in the wrong mood even seeing my arms, my wrists and my fingers as I am writing down to you can be triggering.

Not feeling hungry can be triggering.

Feeling hungry can be, too.

 

People don’t know how far fighting from ED is from “just eat it already”.

If I just needed to “eat it” I can guarantee you that right now I’ll be cure. I hate my disease.

 

And all in all, this insane numbers of battles are battles I have to win, every single day until I’ll get better, because if I lose just one of them it can lead me to my own defeat. If I allow only one parasite thought to pollute my mind I’ll be starving myself in a heartbeat without even realising it.

 

I didn’t plan on writing that much …

All I wanted to say was that it has been hard, going shopping, going outside.

But then I am still here, fighting.

I’m still fighting.

I’m still fighting.

I am so fucking afraid of what will happen when I’ll be allowed to get out of here for real.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear muggle notebook,

I cannot sleep. I know I ain’t the only one but I can’t find the strength to get up and see who’s awake.

It’s surprisingly silent.

Or maybe the institute is always that quiet at night.

But right now I can’t stand it.

 

It’s awful.

It feels like 7th year.

 

I just can’t proceed it.

It’s too much.

It is just too much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I’ve ended up my night in Tobias’s bed.

I’m not meaning we had sex.

 

I just couldn’t take it anymore and Edward was fast asleep. I don’t know how he managed to do that…

Cause even in Tobias’s bed I felt alone, cold.

We haven’t talk. He just asked if I wanted to share the night. I’ve nodded. I don’t know how he did it. Talking seemed to need strength I don’t have anymore.

And there isn’t really any words left to say.

 

There was nothing to hear or listen too, neither.

 

It’s something I have learned in the Manor.

Even if suffering can be louder than a storm or quieter than a whisper, you cannot find something more hearable than death.

It will always be the loudest and yet quietest sound in the room.

 

 

 

I thought it was over.

I thought I was finally safe.

 

 

I can’t believe she died.

I can’t believe she’s dead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

It’s been a few days, now.

Most of us went to the funeral. It felt like we had to support her until the very end.

It was dreadful. Atrocious. Horrible. Worse than it.

 

She was supposed to be better.

 

She wasn’t supposed to die.

 

 

PS: I’ve written to Pansy. I told her I understand and that I needed her to know that I love her and will always held her close to my heart. That I understand she couldn’t come but that I needed her to hear the words.

I told her not to worry, that I’m missing her, that I’m just being emotional.

I don’t want her to be frightened anymore.

But she has to know.

In case I didn’t make it alive.

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I didn’t know who to call.

I couldn’t tell this to anyone out there.

They would freak out.

 

I am freaking out.

Dr R. is watching me carefully. I think he is scared I could be next.

I am too.

But maybe it could be Bonnie

 

I didn’t

I haven’t write this down

I don’t want her to die. I DON’T WANT HER TO DIE.

 

I didn’t want anyone to die.

 

I just don’t wanna die.

I’ve fought too much to die here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

We have talked about this pretty much lately. We had more group therapy than before.

But …

It’s been a week and we are only beginning to understand it.

It’s been a week and I’m still

I don’t know

I have no fucking clue of what I am feeling.

It seems I haven’t felt anything since that night.

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

Dr R. had gotten me an appointment with Hr M. He said it’s just a safety check.

He wants to be sure my heart won’t let me down.

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I am ok. My heart is working the way it is supposed to be. Hr M. says that I long as I keep eating healthily I will be ok.

 

I didn’t know Hr M. could treat me the way he treated me today. He was as freaking delicate as the guys back by the Lake.

I think Dr R. told him about Stella.

I think he perfectly knows why he isn’t weighting me today or making comment on my more than half full plate.

I think he wants to avoid any triggering situation in case I stop eating again.

 

I finally asked him how.

How it happened.

How could have she died at a healthy BMI.

 

He told me about how common cardiomyopathy were common for people with ED. How it kills half of us at our lowest weight and how it could be cure by eating healthily and gaining weight. As it did for me when my blood pressure was in my socks and my heart rate was too slow.

 

He told me that her heart could have failed her because it was too weak, or because of a lack of potassium, magnesium or phosphor. Or God knows what else she was depriving herself.

 

I asked him why there was that much blood.

He froze and asked me what I was talking about.

Told him I was the one who found her in the bathroom, blood everywhere.

He asked me why I had asked about heart failure then.

He wasn’t happy hearing that it was what they’ve told us during group therapy.

Asked me what else did I remember, where was the blood coming from.

Said it wasn’t coming from any wound. I had checked that. It seemed she had thrown it up.

Was she a puker? yes.

Has she thrown up blood before? I don’t know.

Did Dr R. knew she was? I don’t know.

Was she still doing as she was gaining weight? I said I think so, but wasn’t entirely sure. That I’ve heard things.

I asked him why. How it could have made her bleed that much.

Oesophagus’s rupture. He explained that repeated vomiting can wound the membrane connecting the oesophagus to the stomach and if that wound was big enough it was simply a haemorrhage.

 

She had puke hard enough to tear herself apart.

 

 

 

 

I’m not feeling well. I’m off to see Dr R.

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I asked him why they haven’t told us what had really happened.

He said it wasn’t a necessity. That we were shocked enough. That it wasn’t the kind of memory people want to hold on too. That it was partially true: her heart had failed her after all the blood she has lost.

That we shouldn’t remember her that way.

That it was what her parents had asked for.

And that no one had to die alone in a bathroom floor.

 

I screamed.

We deserved the entire truth.

We were supposed to trust each other.

I ‘asked’ him what he will be telling if one of the suicidal guy hang himself up. Will he say that “lungs failure is common among suicidal people” as they said that “heart failure was common among ED suffering people”?

 

He said he was sorry but that it was for the greater good.

Told him the basilik was in the chamber for the greater good, too. That Grinderwald and Voldemort were working for the greater good, too.

He said I need to calm down.

Told him to be kissed by a dementor.

 

 

Hopefully this time I wasn’t screaming in my underwear.

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I woke up from a nightmare again.

_Murder in the bathroom._

But I wasn’t the one lying on the floor this time.

Nor the time before.

 

 

 

Am I going to be afraid of bathroom as I am from fire since Vincent’ death?

 

I don’t know.

 

Early morning is the only time when I feel something.

And I really don’t want to feel it anymore.

 

I’m gonna ask one of the assistant if I could have an appointment soon. There are things I can’t voice out during group therapy. And I don’t want to talk to Dr R.

 

 

 

I just want to scream some more.

 

She had thrown up until she had finally vomited her own life.

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

Yesterday ended up rather unexpectedly.

Harry came by in the early afternoon, picking me up for the word outside of the door.

I didn’t know he was supposed to come, no one had warned me. But he seemed to like it, finding me in comfy muggle clothes and messy hair; furthermore without the tube. He said I look better. I said he look handsome. I won.

 

It turned out he had asked for Dr R.’s agreement a week ago and then tried to get Mother’s one. I can’t help but picture him shyly asking Mother if he could have me for a night out, stuttering. I will definitely have to owl her.

Or maybe not, as we spend the night alone in his apartment.

 

Everything went fine.

We went to this cinema on James Street then talked for hours walking _hand in hand_ in the muggle part of town. We hit to his place when it started raining. Except that he grew up in a muggle house and that there was seemingly no way he would let me inside before kissing me in the rain.

That was pretty nice actually, but I had to grumble about getting soak. That made him laugh. _Sweet Merlin how have I miss his laughter._

We cooked dinner together. I was so pleased to see the look on his face as he watched me help him, à la muggle. I mean, yes, we were cooking dinner, we were cooking the food that will later have to go in my stomach, but it was so great.

Harry’s place is small but warm and friendly, a perfect mix of how I’ve pictured the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff’s common rooms to be. He really looks at ease there, safe. At home. And watching him cooking from his sofa as I was drinking wine… I just couldn’t help it… I just had to be a part of it. There was no way I could sit here, I had to be there with him. I had to make him laugh a little bit more, I had to try the lamest food joke I have ever heard off and I had to kiss him feverly.

 _I love him so much_.

 

And he’s a great cook. And, I know this is supposed to be a recovery book, but if I can’t talk here about how great he is and how great it was, what’s the point of having it called a diary in the first place, right?

So I’m just going to talk about Potter until it’s tea-time because I don’t find a more pleasurable way to spend this hours.

 

I was saying that he’s a great cook but also a so caring boyfriend. He made us stir fry chicken and vegetables and I know he had chosen this recipe because of its taste but also for his nutrition fact too. He had forgotten to erase them from his recipe (it also seemed that it was a Granger’s recipe) but I mean, can you find someone cutter than him? I don’t know how much time did he spend searching for the perfect meal but he succeeded. And he seemed pleased to see me eat, and liking it.

 

Everything was perfectly perfect.

Until I woke up screaming for Severus at 2 in the morning.

I then had to tell him about the nightmares, and about Stella. And his happy smile vanished once again.

He said sorry too much and his eyes watered but I’ve hugged him with all the love I have.

He said that now I have another reason to fight.

We fall back to sleep. I miss his tight embrace.

 

 

Breakfast was a little bit more chaotic as I didn’t want to get out of bed, as I didn’t want to watch the clock ticking away our time together. (I mean chaotic in a disorganized way, in a kisses and cuddles and grabbing his leg way) We finally agreed upon eating in bed but, as I’ve heard him complained about how pureblood didn’t have any good manners - _I love him so much_ \- I decided to make him grumble a little bit more by sitting at his table. _He is so adorable._

 

He took me back to the institute and promises to come again, sooner.

 

I think I could never be more in love than I am with him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I have the feeling that Dr R. is trying to drive me as far away as he can, but I don’t care, it’s absolutely worth it : he said I can go to Blaise’s French Summerhouse. As long as I write to you everyday and eat and get weighted before going and when getting back.

He said I did fine at Harry’s and that I’m 500 gr away form 50 so it’s ok.

He said he will help me get back little by little in the real world (he might have heard about my triggering list).

 

I am so excited.

I’ll see Blaise, and Harry will come a few days too.

And he hadn’t promise me anything but I might also see Pansy and I miss her so much so, wow, big new.

 

He made me promise to firecall him if anything went wrong so he could pick me at the nearest floo. I mean, what could get wrong? I’ll be with the most supportive person ever.

Ok, right,  Blaise and Harry hanging out together, that could absolutely get wrongly. As long as they don’t think of inviting Weasley and Granger for a night, I don’t think there would be murder.

 

 

 

DMN,

I’m officially 50, which is a good new. I’m still 17kg away from not being underweight but like, every kg I gain is a little victory.

BUT…

I feel perfectly fine, now. No dizziness, no worried looks, no shaking limbs.

And I like what I see in the mirror.

Gaining from now will maybe be a little harder…

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I’m leaving ! Heading to Blaise French SummerHouse right now !

So, instead of “DMN”, it will be “BFSH” for a little while, to make it all clearer.

I’m allowed for 5 days out, I’m so thrilled. I just can’t stop moving.

 

 

 

 

 

 

BFSH day 1

Wow. I just had to start with a wow because that’s strictly how I felt when seeing Blaise’s house. And I live in an effing Manor, for the record.

His house could clearly belong to the South Hampton’s. But I’m not spitting on South France. It’s a little bit wilder and less crowded by Noble and Pureblood rich families. Who am I kidding, Blaise’s mother would never live surrounded by poor people. But it’s far more private as the nearest house is km away.

There’s everything we could ever need to spend the week: an heated swimming pool, beach chairs looking more comfortable that my actual bed at the institute, a small quidditch field and a sun deck dedicated for breakfast. And it appeared that he gave me the room with the nicest view in case I “needed a French sunset to make things level up with Potter”. Ridiculous but I won’t blame him, I love the view. And I’m sure Harry will, too.

 

 

We haven’t done that much things today. Mostly walks in the surrounding and nearest village (where it seems that being an ex Death Eater, or a Slytherin, doesn’t matter) and as it’s still early there isn’t that much tourist. Tomorrow morning he’ll take me to the market and he’ll teach me how to cook. He said that every pureblood should know how to live without an house elf, and that cooking was actually an art so there was no need to be ashamed of being able to provide homemade meals while hosting, as long as there wasn’t more than ten person eating.

Then he took me to his favourite clothes shop (I won’t be ashamed of my guest, Drac’. We definitely need to buy you some fitting clothes). And again, I feel perfectly confident in my body. I don’t look ill anymore. I’m slowly starting to worry about the fact that I am not feeling ill no more.

But I will worry about it later. I’m not here for this!

 

He said he would like to take me to some of his favourite restaurants so I can taste French food but that he won’t force me too if I don’t feel like it.

I said maybe later. I think I’ll say yes.

 

He said that maybe Pansy will come. But that she’s not 100% sure. He said he will try to convince her.

He said I look better. And that he’s glad to see me standing in my own two feet.

 

 

The sunset is actually amazing. How the sun slowly disappear in the Atlantic.

I could totally consider making a proposal here. But I don’t think that’s what Blaise had in mind.

 

Anyway, I’ve eaten and I’m feeling good.

I’m meeting Blaise downstairs, we’re watching stars tonight.

                                                                                                               DM.

 

 

 

 

 

 

BFSH day 2,

I’ve discovered _Chocolatine_ this morning. I’ve known about croissant since ever but there’s no word to explain how better they taste when bought in little French bakery. I know they are like, 400 kcal/100 gr but Blaise allowed me to weight them and have a breakfast I could keep in my stomach without feelings.  

I didn’t know Blaise was that much of an early person but it appears that he got up early enough to go the fish market before the bakery as “the better get away the sooner”. He remembered my favourite fish and how I was offended that Hogwarts didn’t serve fish meals (apparently it was pretty easy to remember).

I feel so blessed.

 

We’re heading to the market.

 

P.S I’ve never thought Blaise could look that good in summer clothes.

 

 

 

 

BFSH day 2,

Of all the things I had took for granted, Blaise’s perfect hostness may be the truer.

We came back maybe one hour ago and this day has been absolutely astonishing. The market was absolutely cute (flowers and bread everywhere, vegetables and homemade cidar/wine, smiles and warm beckoning) and most sellers seemed to remember him from last summer. Apparently he’s pretty early this year but hopefully for us it’s unexpectedly warm down here -not really hard to be warmer than Scotland.

We came back home and he made lunch as I only had to rest on the desk chair with fresh and sugar free lemonade, chief order I wasn’t going to discuss. He came by with a fucking wicker basket. I swear that if he wasn’t Blaise Zabini and if we hadn’t been in France I would have say something. But as I don’t know if it’s extremely common for French people to go picnicking or if it’s just another one of his fantasy, I’ve kept my mouth shut.

And I’m glad I did.

We walked a little less than an hour to get to a marina -which leaved me wondering about how many km he had walked this morning to get us fish- and I’ve discovered the _Southern Cross_. No need to add that we spend the rest of the day in the middle of the ocean. I don’t know if you have ever navigated an enchanted boat, but it was amazing. I’ve only ever been on Hagrid’s and I’m only adding that even if discovering Hogwarts by night for the first time ever really was a life-changing experience, spending hours on the _Southern Cross_ has been debilitating. Maybe the white wine helped feeling that good. Right, maybe we drank a little bit more than we’ve ate, but we’re in France so why care?

And I’ve walked enough to balance it. Furthermore I’ve planned on skipping dinner; he wants us to go swimming tomorrow. It’s easier to eat while wearing long sleeves and jackets than when knowing you’ll be half naked next to a could-be mannequin.        

 

Blaise said we could go further next summer, when I’ll have recovered. That we could travel a little bit before he pursue his scholarship.

He hadn’t told me he intended to go to Asia.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BFSH day 2,

He hadn’t say anything when I told him I didn’t intended on eating dinner. He just gave me the same concerned look he had given me at St Mungo while I was playing with my bones.

 

He asked to talk while I was bathing. I think he needed the door between us to speak openly.

He said he’s glad I’m spending the week at his, and that he’s really proud of what I’ve achieved lately. Going from living dead to frail human being. But that I still have a long way to walk. And that he would really like to help me on that path but that he has no clue on what is ok and what isn’t. That he would need me to tell him what was going inside of my mind, for once. That I would have to tell him when he’ll have to worry and firecall Dr R. That he wouldn’t let me down one time more.

He apologized for disappearing after Hogwarts Battle and not being there for my family trials. He said sorry for not helping me back in 6th and 7th year. That knowing about the Mark but not having done anything made him an accomplice of everything that went on later. And a shitty friend.

 

It’s not something I’m really used to, hearing Blaise confessing his worries and feelings.

He asked me not to mention it unless it was really needed.

I think it’s something he isn’t used to do, too.

But I’m glad he did it.

I guess I could use those few days to make sure he knows he has never left me bitter.

 

 

 

 

BFSH day 3,

I haven’t sleep well at all. Strange dreams and nightmares, mostly.

But waking up wasn’t a comfort…

I had forgotten how bad it was to go to sleep with a stomach who hadn’t hold anything instead alcohol in the past hours … I feel so bloody nauseous and my heart is beating so fast … I know it’s only due to hypoglycaemia but still, I feel so sick… I know I should just go downstairs and eat something but I’m frightened I won’t be able to keep it… and I don’t want Blaise to find me vomiting; mainly if I’m not able to reach the bathroom. It would just make him worry some more… and I don’t want to. I’ve hurt enough people I care for, I’ve made enough damage… and I can’t just throw the responsibility away by saying it was because of the ED …

I just can’t make everyone worry, and then hurt them.

 

I should tell Harry about Antony. About the kiss.

It didn’t mean anything and it still doesn’t but if I don’t say anything… I’m afraid he’ll think I’ve been hiding it because it had meant something. I don’t want to lose him over this…

 

 

 

I definitely feel sick, now.

 

 

 

 

 

BFSH day 3,

Right, I still have some progress to make when it comes to not make people worry about me…

Blaise showed up to my room when I didn’t get downstairs. And I wish he hadn’t.

I mean,

I mean, I am glad he did cause I needed it but I wish he hadn’t because it was

I’m not used to be seen so defenceless, even when it comes to Blaise.

 

I don’t really know. It just doesn’t seem like me anymore.

I’ve never been that kind of guy before.

I guess it’s a counterpart of being alive again. The emotions I have been keeping at bay are flowing again. And I’ll have to learn how to deal with them in a healthier way.

 

 

I’ve eaten breakfast and when I started feeling better we talked about Antony. I made him swear not to tell anyone, ever.

He said it’s a stupid idea, telling Harry. That if it didn’t matter to me, then it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t worth the pain I was going to afflict him by confessing. That Harry still has a bloody Saviour Complex and that it was already hard enough for him not to be able to help me (it appears that they’ve been talking after O’Connor ‘accident’) thus it wasn’t worth it to make him feel like he wasn’t enough. That it would be a huge pill to swallow, learning that I’ve needed another guy.

That was Blaise’s words, not mine. I haven’t needed another guy. I had needed a friend, comfort and someone to help me navigate through despair, pain and starvation. If anyone had been there instead of Antony, it would’ve ended the same way.

And in the end I am glad it wasn’t someone I really care for / love. I’m already asking for far too much.

 

Blaise had offered to call it a day off and to cancel the little party he had planned for tonight. He had invited Pansy and the golden trio over. Apparently Pansy and Granger are following some classes together and strangely became friends. I can’t believe I didn’t know.

I said he didn’t have to, that I would have recomposed myself in the meantime. And that I really have to catch up from everything that seems to have happened while I was locked up.

 

I promise not to tell anyone, but he fucking ended up our conversation with watery eyes. Blaise isn’t that much of a hugger but I really think he needed this one; I’m apparently coming from very far.

 

 

 

 

 

BFSH day 3,

This afternoon was way easier than what I’ve been expecting. We’ve eaten lightly and Blaise had prohibited me from getting near anything containing alcohol; while mister was drinking Pretty Woman at 6. I’ve rolled my eyes. But I can’t blame him. He told me it was very funny to watch yesterday, as I got boozy quicker than before but that it wasn’t fun enough to be worth my morning’s melodrama. That I’ll have to wait for Pansy to spend the night to be spozzled again. He had also vividly advised that I stay away from it tonight too, as he doesn’t want me to spit my guilt at Harry.

But that’s perfectly ok for me. Except for the Pretty Woman. I would have liked one.

 

We’ve chilled in the pool all afternoon and enjoyed his

I don’t know how to say it to describe my amazingness.

Blaise Zabini has, by Salazar I swear it’s true, has an enchanted buoy swan, giant size and it fucking deserved a picture. I’ll make sure to take one before going back. I can’t wait for summer: I have to watch him nap on it.

 

I’m heading to the shower. Harry’s going to be here in a little less than an hour and I have to be pretty by then.

 

 

 

 

 

BFSH day 3

The evening had been harder.

Pansy came.

Granger and Weasley  too.

It was supposed to be a nice and lame barbecue party. We were nicely chilling by the pool and Harry had lent me his jumper.

Then Pansy started to say I shouldn’t give my food to Weasley . And that Weasley  shouldn’t be stupid enough not to find out why I was so keen on fulling his plate. She said Harry was stupid too because there wasn’t anything “cute” in eating food from my fork. She said they were all fucking stupid and/or blinks if they didn’t see the game I was playing. Blaise tried to calm her down. She told him to fuck off. She told everyone to fuck off.

She’s locked in the bathroom since half an hour now. Granger is somewhere near her I think.

I’ve left the others downstairs, I needed to be alone.

And I had to write it down.

I wasn’t playing any games. I hadn’t

Maybe I was

 

I’ve ‘fed’ Harry because it was endearing to watch him ask for it. And I was just being a good host to Weasley . I know how much he loves eating.

I may have been enjoying this a little too much, watching people eat instead of doing so.

I don’t know.

It’s true I haven’t eaten as much as Blaise or Granger but it’s hard to keep track of food when we’re not sitting at a table, meals on our plate. We were navigating, picking up food as they get cooked. I just couldn’t eat anymore. But they could. And I still wanted to be a part of it. I still wanted to appear like eating. I still wanted to enjoy it, too.

And yes, maybe I needed them to think it too. Maybe I felt like they deserve to see me being absolutely alright. To see that I haven’t let them down for nothing. That I’ve made progresses. That I hadn’t hurt them over nothing.

 

Harry’s watching me from the doorframe. I’ll be back.

 

 

 

 

 

BSFH day 4,

Okay I know, I haven’t been back.

But I didn’t feel like getting out of bed to write. I wouldn’t leave Harry’s embrace.

 

Granger had talked around Pansy to get out of the bathroom and to meet me on the winter’s garden.

I don’t want to spread out about how it went because it wasn’t pleasant. I’ve really hurt her… she shouldn’t have come to St Mango. We’ve talked for almost an hour but we ended up alright. She cried, I cried, she said everything that was rotting her and I answered with everything she needed and wanted to hear.

 

Blaise’s event ended up fine. Ronald had put every one of his brain cell in order to make us laugh. That was delicate of him -something I didn’t think I would say one day.

And I’ve asked Hermione to keep an eye on her and never hesitating on contacting Blaise, for as long as I’m locked in. She agreed and it felt like somehow she understood far much than she was supposed to.

 

Even if the evening was finally enjoyable, my favourite part was still the night.

It was a little bit late when we got upstairs to see the sunset but Harry had loved the view equally. I really have to take him stargazing sometimes soon.

And it felt so great nestling against his chest as he slowly felt asleep talking about his training. I didn’t think I could be fond of someone’s little snores.

But as much as I have loved falling asleep in his arm, I adored waking up beside him even more. He agreed to stay in bed a little longer that guest should.

He has changed in shampoo. It suits him better. He smells more like a man and less like a lost teenage boy. It had made it harder to stay on a cuddling and kissing level.

 

I’ve showed him the village nearby but got lost in the way back so we’ve walked in the surrounding waiting for me to find something I could remember from my previous excursion. I’m glad we got lost. Because we really got lost and ended up walking by the ocean, waiting for Blaise to answer to Harry’s patronus.

 

I didn’t think I could be that much tactile and keen on light kisses as I am. I wasn’t raised to act like this, but I’m really happy I ended up being. Harry’s too. I think those few months had leaved him a little bit touch starved.

 

 

 

Now Harry’s gone but he will join us for lunch before I go. I’ve ran away from Blaise’s predatory gaze. He can’t wait for me to lose my virginity.

 

 

 

 

BFSH day 4,

It appears that Pansy wrote to me yesterday night. After we talked. Blaise wasn’t allowed to give me the letter before Harry was gone. And it seems he didn’t really want to give me the letter anyway. He knows how much she means to me.

 

Draco dear,

I am not sure if I should, but if I don’t …

I’d like to start with some apologies cause I know I own you a few.

Firstly I am sorry for having done nothing to help you back in Hogwarts. Right, you fucked up the most in 7th year, when you spent half the year at home. But in 4th year, or 5th or 6th, I should have understood that something wicked your way was coming. And I am not talking about Voldemort.

Then, I am sorry for not visiting you at St Mungo after that 1st time I went. But I’ll talk about it later.

And finally, I am sorry for tonight. I shouldn’t have made a scene. It wasn’t fair for you or Blaise, or the others.

But I couldn’t. I had to.

 

You know, or maybe you don’t, and it’s in the case you don’t, or worse, forgot, that I’m going to tell you, about a boy our age.

This boy, he always had pretty grey eyes; but lately they were eating half of his face. When looking at him, someone could only see the halo of his long and so sapless blond hair, falling by handful when played with and those big grey eyes. Tired, sad and scared big grey eyes which couldn’t stop going from his mother’s face to his best friend’s, trying to read in there everything they couldn’t say. And the boy was keeping his mouth shut, too. His cheek and jaw bones never were that visible yet there was a hole where used to be his cheek and from that little space nothing true or mattering could be formed.

I spent some times with the boy and his mother, in a smelly hospital room. It was hot there and I was sweating in a hoodie I couldn’t take off but he was freezing in his hospital gown, covered to the waist down by white sheets and layers of pashmina and to the waist up by a woolly jumper, far too big for him.

There was an IV in his arm and a feeding tube down his nose and the humming of the feeding machine was busying the silence, or at least my brain and I couldn’t think about anything else.

And then, it was too much.  

Then I couldn’t recognize the malicious boy I once knew. There was somebody resembling his shadow in the bed, but it wasn’t my best friend anymore. I later dreamed that a monster had eaten him up alive and took his appearance. Maybe that was a good metaphor of your / his disease: being eaten alive by your own skeleton.

Anyway, I couldn’t take it and excused myself out of the room. Soon followed by his mother.

I’ve tried to tell her what was wrong but all I could mouth was “Draco”. Everything else was just crying, sobbing and bawling. It isn’t something I am used to, bawling.

And then, his mother started to cry, too. She was whispering “I know, sweetheart, I know” as she hugged me and I knew she needed the hug, too. Because I was afraid of losing my best friend, but her, she was losing her son.

Her brilliant and snarky son.

He had survived a war where all sides had wanted him dead, but hunger was going to take him away from us.

 

We got back to the room.

He was eating his cheeks, eyes wet. He had probably heard us. Now we were all looking at someone hurtful.

I told him goodbye, made him swear to get better, wanting anything more than to leave and run to the nearest floo to collapse back home but he absolutely wanted to hug me goodbye.

I was afraid to crash his bones in the process so I was a bit reluctant but he really wanted to, and I didn’t feel like saying no, in case of.

But I haven’t thought about how hard it could be for him to get off the bed and stand. I hadn’t realise he was so weak he’d need to sit down a bit after trying to get up too quickly (and I mean too quickly for him, not for us, healthy human beings) because of dizziness. Of course he said nothing about it, but he wasn’t able to fool anyone.

And as he was sitting there, trying to make the world stop spinning, all I could do was staring at his legs. Skinny would be too big for adjectiving his. His quidditch socks looked so out of place, unrolled over his too frail ankles instead of being properly fold under his once muscular claves. I started to wonder if he could still walk because his muscles all seemed to have disappeared and it was just bones and joints. I’ve never thought the biggest part of someone’s legs could be theirs knees.

Which were finally wobbly and shaky the first two seconds he stood up. I hugged him as soon, not wanting to see if could walk toward me.

He whispered “I’ve missed you”, “I love you” and “I’m sorry” into my hair but all I could think about was his pointy cheekbones on my ear, his so obvious collarbone under my cheek or the crazy beating of his heart under the fabric of our clothes.

I said goodbye and wait in the corridor for my vision to be clear again.

 

I couldn’t manage to go back afterward. It was too much. I couldn’t go and face him if he was doing worse. I wasn’t even sure to be able to face the better.

But later I received an owl, asking me to a small party in South France, with my 2 best friends, his lover, my crush and hers. How to say “no” to that, huh? I’ve tried. But my 2nd best friend convinced me to go, that my 1st would be there, not his shallow doppelgangers. So I went.

 

I went and all in all the evening was fun.

 

It was hotter there so my crush was wearing a dress, her long hair untie; it suits her better than the strict bun she’s wearing at the Ministry, where we shared lesson.

Yes, Draco dear, I have a potteresque crush on Hermione and I guess it wouldn’t be fair to you if Blaise spat it out before I. I would have like to tell you all about this, but we didn’t really have the opportunity to discuss properly recently.

 

So, the boy of my story, he wasn’t there. But he wasn’t not there either.

And there comes the point that matters the most.

I know no-one is thinking you’re doing greatly, but they are all thinking you’re doing better. I know Potter saw you back at the institute, tube in and 40 kg all wet. But even now you still look so delicate, Draco.

And even if Potter saw you at 40 and Blaise at 35, it’s still me, and only me, who were there when you were 30. I know how down you can sink.

And even if Potter had never seen you above 65, I have. And I remember.

 

I remember what you looked like, cheeks flushed by alcohol, bare chest and dancing shamelessly in our common room. How often we sneaked out to the kitchen after drinking too much. How you could push boys away when they were starting to get on me.

I remember when you flied your broom, looking for Potter instead of the snitch during games and how that would make Blaise lose his mind. And how he would try to dismantle you back in the dorms; how we could hear you laughing in all Hogwarts.    

 

I’ve made a scene because they all acted like you are ok.

You have new clothes that fit you perfectly; you cut your hair and magically repaired them too and you’ve lost the little fur your body had started to grow. And as much as I am happy to see you getting better, I am still afraid.

I am afraid you will get stuck at this weight, or decide to go down again. I know how easy it would be for you to get down at 40 again: you’ll only have to lose one or two pounds and then, the beast will be awakened.

Or Potter could break out with you, or you two could just fight, or you could just feel bad enough and stop eating again.

 

Blaise and him seem too happy to see you act as you did before to realise (? comment ?) the fact that you’re not safe and sound yet, Drac’

I see things, I understand, but I won’t stay silent. I saw you go down too many times before. I won’t be fooled anymore. I know your tricks; always the same. Always picking food and lifting forks, but never swallowing anything. People would see you eat and they’ll be happy about it, but you were only pretending.

 

I really know how hard you fought to be able to eat and how complicated it had to be to eat in front of the golden trio, when you had despise Ronald’s appetite for so long. Maybe you were somehow only jealous of his ability to eat. I dunno. I quite don’t care.

 

I just want you to know I will always remember how bad you were, how scared I was of losing you. Because, I, alive, will never let you down this way again.

I won’t stop opening my mouth and make scenes until all of our love ones- and their love ones- will know and notice your tricks. I need them all to watch you out, to keep an eye on your behaviour, to be able to ring the alarm if needed. Because I know you are smart enough to fool us all again, if a time comes and you feel like losing weight again.

But I won’t allow it.

I’m going to expose your disease to their naïve eyes. To make them look through your perfect hair, your glamourous charms, your perfects outfits and yours layers and layers of hidden clothes. I will make them remember you’re ill.

 

And I know you’ll maybe hate me for this. I know how much you hate it when people see through your up breeding and see how broken, lost, weak and needy you can be. You might think you’ll get pity back. But I don’t care and I know you’ll understand.

I know you’ll get why I am doing this.

I love you and if something has to break our friendship, I would like it better if it was my desperate try-out/attempts at helping you.

Because I won’t let you down, ever.

And if I need to shove food down your throat, I will.

And if I have to take you to St Mungo, I will.

 

I know you think this isn’t my fight and that you’re sorry I’m letting it hurts so badly but I take this opportunity to tell you that this is my fight, too. And Blaise’s. And Harry’s.

 

Because we all care far too much about you for having another choice than being hurt and trying our best to help you.

 

Blaise has been strong enough to go and see you at ST Mungo. And Harry was allowed to see you then take you out of the institute.

I may not be able to do so, but they keep me updated. We are your supporting group.

 

We are, I am, here for you.

 

Until the very end.

Love,

Pans.

 

 

 

I am thankful Blaise went out. I need some time alone to think about all of this. And even now I am not really able to create a logical thought about it. I mean, I just don’t know how I feel so how am I supposed to write it down? It’s like there’s something down my throat (and it has nothing to do with crying cause that’s already done, again). It’s warm but constricting in the same time? I feel too many contradictory and/or overwhelming emotions and right now I would really like to be a teaspoon.

Maybe I shouldn’t try to focus on describing it or

Maybe there is just nothing to add ?

Maybe I should just lay down on the tiles near the swimming pool and wait for Blaise to come back ?

 

And maybe I can make myself a pretty woman in the meantime. That would help.

 

 

 

 

 

BFSH day 4

I’m an absolute idiot.

In fact I think that I am closer to being THE absolute idiot.

 

I drunk a little bit too much, I couldn’t recall the exact amount of vodka and champagne the cocktail needed, and I may have tried a few times in order to find the perfect taste.

When Blaise came back I was standing bare chest in front of his bedroom’s full length mirror, mapping the borders of my skeleton. And I wasn’t like really mapping anything it was just

You know, Pansy’s words were running in slow motion in my head and I wanted to confront them with the reality. Like, she went to St M and she saw a boy and I don’t really recall having seen him and I kinda remember some stuff but just it didn’t felt like she was describing me. I am not like that and have never been. There never was a hole instead of my cheeks and maybe it was just a metaphor, it’s like 90% chance of being a metaphor, I know how much Pans like them, but like no. how could I not say something mattering or true ? how could have she thought that my outside could be a credible reflection of my inside  ? after all this time we were friends ? by Salazar that hurts. I told her I was sorry wasn’t it mattering ? I told her I love her, isn’t it true ? does my speech only have credit if I am a big and tall man ? what is that supposed to mean ? are every weak and broken and needy suffering lost people not giving the credit to be able to matter ?

Was I fucking more mattering and speaking truth when I got the Mark ? it’s the same body. the same effing skin. the same boy inside of it. and not really the same boy. I’ve changed. and I’m happy I have. but she’s there telling I do not matter anymore.

I was so excited to be able to see her again. I’ve missed her so much. but then I wasn’t enough for her. I wasn’t the tall and gorgeous bastard I used to be so I wasn’t enough for her anymore. Right, perfect. I don’t care. I am not the tall and gorgeous bastard I used to be. but being that guy had led my body to return against itself. and that ought to count for something. i am smaller, I am less. I waste less space. but I want to use it better. and  that is all that matters, for me at least.

So I was standing there, trying to superpose my feelings with how my body looks and how it looked, when Blaise came home.

He was so mad at me, I don’t know, I think he tough I was relapsing or something. but I just couldn’t take his anger in me. I had no place left inside to keep it inside. So I sent it all back to him. he asked if it was because of Pansy’s letter and I spat at him, asking if it was a problem to him if I was aware of their little meetings with my boyfriend whom the sole purpose was talking about my “update” behind my back. Was Mother a part of their gathering too ? was she making a show of my fucking intimacy too ? oh, excuse me sir, you were only worried about me. So you basically decided that my “shallow doppelganger” didn’t need any privacy or dignity, right ? why did you needed to reunite to say that I was doing better / worse ? did you gather around a damned fire whisky and drank until you felt better about my maybe collapsing corpse ? as if I could get better as if I could fucking get better if everyone I know Is only considering me as a ill pet. Was it why you were so insistent on giving me the room with view ? because harry told you about us ? Do you two really talk about our non-existing sex life ? fuck off Blaise you had no rights. You had no rights.

 

Anyway, nothing really hurtful has been said I think. It was mostly me screaming and Blaise lowering his voice in order to calm me down.

I didn’t and couldn’t stand to see his face so I get out with you, DMN, and walked to the beach.

And here I am now. Slowly sobering up.

I wonder why the ocean water is always so cold and why do the Black had always been that unlucky.

My cousin is dead, her husband too. Her son is basically an orphan because of the rest of his family tree.

My uncle is dead too, killed by my aunt and my father and I don’t remember who else. Then she died too.

Oh, and this other uncle I had who died a while ago, he also died because of the Dark Lord.

Which leaves Mother and her sister alive.

Are the four of us enough to make it all mattering?

 

I’ve heard somewhere that there was approx. 1 people alive for 11 who died since the beginning of Everything.

And most of those people have been forgotten.

But I won’t, and the mattering part of my family tree will.

My father won’t, and Bellatrix won’t.

But Sirius, Regulus and Nymphodora will.

Because our names will be famous for their infamy while people will forget the brave who died for peace. Yes, of course, there will be statues to honour their sacrifice and their names would be engraved in marble. But Bellatrix Lestrange née Black will forever be in the History books as Voldemort -man up Draco- best girl. And her madness will always be remembered while Frank’s and Alice’s Longbottom one will have been forgotten.

And maybe Harry’s name will bright for ever there, too, but the rest of the Order will fall silent. And no one will remember Cedric Diggory as anything but as one of the numerous who died when the Dark Lord returned. And then no one will remember. There will only be Voldemort and his Death Eaters against Potter and those who died.

Right, all that to say that I will remember those 11 people I have to remember, and I will remember more. And I will do my best to make them be remembered.

 

 

I just don’t feel fine.

 

 

 

 

BFSH day 4

The day hasn’t really ended as it should have.

I am currently sitting at my desk in the Manor.

I don’t have a clue of what I was thinking about; but I Apparated nearby Aunt Andromeda’s house. You should have seen her face when she found me on her doorstep, trousers half wet from my ocean bathing, hair messed up by the wind and probably ten years older that the last time she saw me.

I’ve introduced myself before apologizing for coming unbeknownst and she let me in (thankfully).

I could finally meet young Ted Remus Lupin. He’s almost two years old now and he’s simply adorable. He spent the afternoon toddling over me and playing with my hair, hopefully I haven’t cut them before going to France. He’s the cutest child I have ever seen and it has nothing to do with his pretty hazel eyes or his hair being a perfect shade of emerald green. Ok, right, the green hair might help. I mean, how many children would choose green as their favourite colour? Re-formulating, a not Slytherin green. Oh Salazar, Harry’s eyes…

Anyway, I’ve spent the afternoon playing and crawling with him. I am now his “unca Draco” and he stole a part of my heart.

I’m not sure how Mr and M Lupin would have taken it. I mean, they both had plenty reasons to hate me. I will have to ask Harry about it. He’s his godfather, after all; and as it’s Andromeda who introduced me as “Uncle Draco”, I don’t see who else has something to say about it.

 

Andromeda firecalled Mother as I was reading to him; she was standing in the doorway, watching us as I swiped the last pages.

Saying that she wasn’t really happy to hear I had just flown away from France, without telling Blaise furthermore, is a pretty euphemism. He had panicked and firecalled everyone, even Dr R. She reprimanded and lectured me for what seemed to be ages and I felt like being eleven again. She only stopped herself because Andromeda came with her Chinese tea tray and that no one should be washing dirty clothes publicly.

It surprised me, the way they acted one upon the other -Mother used to tell me that she hadn’t seen her since she married Ted Tonks, a muggle born- but they somehow looked close. It appears they had never stopped owling each other through the years in an absolute secrecy. Father still doesn’t know about it.

It’s been hours but I still can’t process it entirely. The more pieces I’m putting correctly into the puzzle, the more I’m lost and disgusted of being half a Malfoy and half a Black.

They showed me old family pictures, telling their stories with soft smiles. The Black sisters seemed to have been really closely knit. I mean, listening to Grandfather Cygnus’s family history it was easy to forget he had three daughters and not two; so I’ve never really thought they could have been that close. I don’t know how she survived it, being disowned by her family.

I mean, the bigger picture make no sense.

I’ve seen -and been authorized to keep- a picture of them all. Bellatrix was approx. 12 and she was holding young Regulus (2) in her arms while Andromeda and Mother (7) were playing in the sand with Sirius (4).  They were all smiling, except for Aunt Bella who was staring back to the lens.

And then, they grew old. Andromeda married a muggle born, Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor and ran away from home, living with the Potter, Harry’s grandparents, and Regulus died aged 18, a year before I was born and mostly a year before his big brother was made prisoner at Azkaban for a crime he didn’t committed.  It took less than 16 years for them not to be a family anymore. And I can’t understand it.

I’ve been raised learning that I had to keep my blood and my lineage pure for the sole honour of my noble family. I’ve been taught that nothing mattered more than family. That my name defined myself to the others and that I had to be proud of being half Malfoy, half Black. Looking back I don’t really know what I should be proud of. And I don’t know how Teddy will figure it out. Sweet Merlin, watch over this child.

Hopefully I can still be proud of being Mother’s son. Family first really meant something for her and I’m glad to know she hasn’t absolutely pushed Andromeda away. She could have stand up for her but I can understand why she didn’t, her up breeding wasn’t that far away from mine. But again

I’m seriously starting to have a headache, thinking about all of this.

Can I say that I am proud of Mother? She never took the Mark and yes, she lied to him, but for me. She hadn’t stood against him, even slightly. She had stand against the snatchers and other Death Eaters, but.

I mean, I haven’t, either.

It’s hard and complicated and I can’t stop cracking my knuckles, _another habit I’m gonna have to lose_.

Father is an imbecile, power-greedy pureblood supremacist. I have no problem in blaming him and understanding his life sentence in Azkaban. He tortured and killed people. He fucking used a Horcruxe against an eleven years old girl! I mean there is absolutely no way I could even think about excusing him for what he did. I cannot think he had act like this only because he was raised like this, he was enjoying it, somewhere. I think he liked it best during the first war and those fifteen years or so when the Dark Lord was supposed to be dead. Afterward he was mostly a frighten puppet. A coward unable to take care of his own family, of his own blood. What’s the worth of a father who cannot keep his child safe? Who cannot protect his wife or defend her dignity? And I used to love him. I used to swear by his name. On the name of everything sacred, I was so utterly foolish.

But it’s not as simply when it comes to Mother. Everything isn’t as wholly black or white. Maybe that’s how she has always been. Somewhere in the middle between Bellatrix and Andromeda, somewhere between “family first” and “blood purity”.

Who am I trying to fool? She wasn’t in the middle of anything. She hasn’t act with the Lord, but she stood beside Death Eaters for the biggest part of her life.

Maybe if she had had other children, she would have had to do something? Maybe if she had had a daughter?   

I think I am tying nots with my neurons.

Is it ok to love only your kind?

I know it’s not.

She always looked down on people, she was a Black, she married a Malfoy; she acted as she was Someone. A sacred twenty eight. She had let down her sister and

I don’t know why she hadn’t taken the Mark.

I don’t even know if she has ever cast an Unforgivable.

 

I don’t know if I should ask her or not.

I did mistakes, I was a child, I had no choice, and I will do my best to make amend.

But her… She had walked that path for almost two decades. We cannot talk about mistake anymore. Maybe after some time, she felt like she hadn’t any choice. Unless RAB, she had a child to take care of. But I can’t buy it, if an eighteen yo guy can die fighting against the strongest Dark Wizard ever, she could had. Or she could have run away. She knows so many people out of the UK.

 

Maybe I am just no supposed to walk around asking for why and how.

I, I really don’t know.

 

I’m sure Harry would tell me to stop torturing myself about it and just try to live without adding weight on my shoulders.

And as there is no use in spilling more ink on the topic for now, I’m going to firecall Blaise, I have apologizes to make, and if it’s not too late, I’ll call Harry next.

 

                                                                                                                         DM.

 

 

 

 

DMN,

Is it strange that I just found out that DMN could also stand for Draco Malfoy’s Notebook? I feel like a twelve years old Hufflepuff now…

Anyone cares so,

BFSH day 5 (and last).

I’m currently in the cab taking me back to the institute from the floo station.

I got back to Blaise’s early this morning, to apologize and clear everything. Mother came, too, but she had the decency to get outside for the biggest part of the day.

 

Blaise told me Pansy was the one who talked to Potter, when she thought he had cheated on me with O’Connor, and that she informed him I was giving up on everything. Knowing Pans, I feel sorry for Harry; she can really be frightening.

But he said that afterward it was Harry who sought for them, that he needed to know how I was and couldn’t stand to be left aside only because he wasn’t a Slytherin. And that I gave them enough time to start having rituals, as their Friday evening at a muggle tavern.

Obviously Granger and Weasley started to come too, furthermore knowing that the girls studied together. They didn’t join them every Friday and often only stayed for a drink or two, but that’s basically how they all ended comfortable with each other.

 

Blaise acknowledged that Mother gave them information on my improvement -or lack of, depending, but that they never thought I could misread their motive: it has never been about staining my dignity/intimacy but a way for them to stay at my bedside, if I could say so. He added that if he had been able to visit me from day 1, he would have, and then wouldn’t have needed Mother to keep him update; and that there was nothing to be ashamed of: I was just ill. They had never judged me or looked down on me because of it. and that even drunk they had never joked about it neither.

He told me that despite the fact that they were gathering in a tavern, they had always been serious about my doing - they just didn’t have a better place to go.

 

Blaise promised me that he and Potter had only talk about sex once, and that was because they were all pretty drunk and Weasley had started the subjected -it appears that Granger and him are… innovative and that’s making Blaise kinda jealous. He promised he hadn’t say anything too relevant but that it definitely was a conversation I’ll have to have with Harry. He refused to tell me what they exactly talked about.

 

 

All in all I’ve made a fuss over nothing, again. They should have told me about it sooner, I’d have understood. But they decide to keep it secret, to leave me outside of it, too. They were talking about me behind my back, making friends with the golden trio without me -and don’t think I am complaining. Right, I am. They are Harry’s best friends; I would have like to be the one asking B and P to let them in. But no, it’s seems that I have lost all ability to decide anymore. I have lost all control over my life, except for eating or not (and then, even if I chose not to, I’ll end up with the tube again so finally I don’t really have a choice anymore). It’s maddening. They talked about me without wondering if I would be ok with it (has Mother told them I ended up throwing up everything I ate? Has Pansy told anyone about how I looked like when she visited me at St Mungo? I would hate it if she had. Moreover if she had described me the same way she has in her letter …) I hate it. And I have no way to know exactly what they said. Not in such a long time.

 

Blaise said he understood my point of view, and that they won’t talk about me anymore if I asked them to. I haven’t.

I know how childish it is, but it hurt a little. He said they won’t talk about me if I wanted to, meaning that they’ll continue to share they Friday evening regardless.

 

 

Harry had asked if he could join us for lunch, I said no. Blaise made up a lie.

I didn’t feel like eating but ate anyway; I really don’t want to stay locked up anymore.

 

 

It’s raining outside and I strangely start to feel more at ease now that we’re approaching the institute.

Maybe part of me wants to stay locked up.      

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I remember my first days here, hoping to get out there as soon as possible, hating each second ticking by and now, it feels more like a safe-room.

Tobias, Edward and the other guys were playing cards in the living room, laughing loud enough to be heard from outside the house but when they heard the door opened they all stopped and welcomed me back, asking me how did it went and offering me a seat. Edward even made up a snarky comment, he’s a quick learner.

We haven’t talked about anything mattering and I headed to bed early but I felt better.

Tobias asked me (again) about Harry and I’m possibly going to ask him to sign an autograph just before I’ll leave.

I’m headed to bed. Just wanted to share the feelings.

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I haven’t seen Dr R. in private yet, he’s busy with a newbie, but it’s perfectly fine. They weighted me and said I haven’t lost a pound. They asked me how did it went and I said fine. They looked down on me as if I was the stupidest guy ever. I know Blaise firecalled the institute, and I know Mother had, too.

I think they are all expecting me to fall apart again. It’s too sad for them that I can’t spend a week with Goyle at Azkaban. They’ve got nowhere else to send me to.

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

We discussed loss in Dr R.’s group session. It’s a perpetual theme here which is an infliction and a blessing in the same time: I’m inquired to voice thoughts rotting in my brains. It frequently leaves me fighting against an urge to occlude everything until the end of time, mostly when I talk about the _fallen_. They offer me a place where I don’t fear being judged or taken in pity and I’m thankful for that. They organised Muggle free session for talking about the war and always warn me before I got stuck in them.

But today I talked about losing control, and not losing someone.

I told him how I feel like shit when people make my own choices and decide what I can and what I can’t handle.

I told them one of the main reason why it is so hard for me to let go of my eating disorders habits is the bare fact that it gives me a sense of power and control over myself that everyone is so keen on denying me; like how Father had always planned my future, how people back at school had only saw in me the Malfoy heir and never gave me a chance to prove them wrong, how they all manipulate me since I was 15, taking my willpower away and giving me illusionary choices, making me a puppet of skin and bones. I told him how I felt when he sent me to my lover’s flat or my best friend’s house in order to make me shut my mouth without asking for my consent first, when he threaten me of impending me to see Father when he was hospitalized or when he sent me to St Mungo without telling me they were thinking about it. Or how disgusted I was when they decide I wasn’t worthy of the truth.

And that despite all of their effort, eating or not will forever be **my** decision. That I would be the only master of my body, heart and soul and that I wasn’t going to let any of them determined my worth and needs anymore.

He tried to answer with cotton candy words and I laughed at his face.

He uttered my name, as Father did to make me shut up. I’ve asked him what kind of punishment I could be afraid of. Being locked in? done. No visit? done. No dessert? My bad. No more lies? I was living for it.

And I’ve apologized in my way out.

 

 

I’m not going to let anyone choose my path for me anymore. I’m going to matter in my own life.

I don’t care if Pansy disapproved it. I’m not going to stand behind the curtains while they play my part. I have the opportunity to begin again and I won’t let anyone stole it from me.

I don’t fucking care what she thinks about me as long as she can’t figure out I am more than Lucius Malfoy pretty and snarky heir. I fucking matter on my own. My shallow doppelganger is the truer I’ve ever get of being me. Nothing to hide behind, nothing to bury inside, nothing to die of. I have nothing to hide anymore, the trials and the “supportive group” have already violated my intimacy to extents I don’t want to think about. I am slowly exhuming what I’ve buried: it’s the only way I can understand, grieve and move on to being a worthy and healthy human being. And finally I am not going to die anytime soon, I have things to do beforehand.

For too long I’ve been what people wanted me to be, and I am not proud of what I’ve done. But that part is over. Act II.

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I’m sorry I’m not writing regularly since I’m back from Blaise’s; but not so much had happened and I don’t have to.

All in all, Dr R. said he’s proud of my progress. I eat, I gain weight and I tend to look forward to being a healthy human being in the world behind the door.

He said he’ll discuss with Mother the possibility to give me access to the outside every afternoon -as long as I go out after our session, ofc. I can’t wait for it to happen.

I’ve sent an owl to Azkaban, asking for a right of visit. Dr R. thinks it was a letter for Blaise.

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

Mother said yes!

And she sent me my old clothes, from when I was 65, to motivate me and help me visualise what’s left to do. I would have need smaller one, my wardrobe here is too small to contain clothes I can’t wear and I have not enough I can, mainly now that I can go out. Is it shallow to miss your clothes? I’m bored of wearing the same muggle outfit since weeks.

 

Anyway, I tried them.

I can’t believe how fat I was back then.

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I can visit Father tomorrow’s afternoon. They’ll send an Auror to take me, as I’m still an Ex Death Eater (even if proven innocent during my trial).

I really hope he’ll be in a better shape.

 

 

 

 

DMN,

It’s fucking two in the morning but I can’t sleep.

Tobias helped me find clothes that wouldn’t offend a wizard -he doesn’t know who I’m seeing, he may appreciate me now but he’ll never forget what my side of the war has done.

I can’t help thinking about tomorrow / today. Father wasn’t really aware of his surrounding back in St M. But now that there aren’t Dementors anymore, he should be, right?

And if he is, has he changed? Has guilt found its way to his heart?

Is he eaten alive by remorse and regrets?

Or does he only regrets not being able to hide behind the Imperius Curse as he had in the past?

What if he’s still the same? And what if he’s not?

Is he still seeking for Purity and power or Absolution?

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I’m back. The day has been long, and awful. I wish for a hot bath and a night in Harry’s arms, but I’m ok.

 

I was slightly afraid of the Auror escort as he rang the doorbell, not understanding yet that it wasn’t to prevent me of doing anything stupid but in order to prove I hadn’t. And they sent Ronald Bilius Weasley.

I’m not saying is not a valuable Auror. I’m just saying that a) he’s a trainee and b) he’s Ronald Bilius Weasley. I know him since Day 1 at Hogwarts and now I’m his bestfriend’s boyfriend.

He brought me a cloak, knowing I would only have muggle clothes to wear. I don’t know if he understood how precious his gesture was as I thank him. But mostly I think I’ve been underestimating him for ages.

 

I’ve been to Azkaban previously but I didn’t remember the journey was so complicated. We took the cab then the floo to the nearest from Azkaban Auror Station -apparently Ronald doesn’t know how to Apparate properly and he refused to Side Along with me- where we took a special floo to get to the boat station -this I remembered- where we both been submitted to Revelare charms and had to drink Veritaserum. And then we were finally authorized to take a boat to the island.

The ride was tough but we could stay out and the cold air helped me calm down. It was soon raining and the wind was strong on the boat but Ronald hadn’t said anything, and never left me alone. He waited for the guards to get out, joking with them as they passed us, because I couldn’t move. He put his hands on my shoulders and promised me that it’ll be ok, because he was, and he was going to walk in the prison where the murderer of his brother was.

 

A guard took us to the visitor room. I’d never been there before, as I always get to see my lawyer in private. Father was already there, sitting straight on what could have been a picnic table and locked his eyes on mine the exact moment I entered the room. There were two others detainees and their family. It didn’t felt like the Azkaban I remembered, gratefully. Ronald nodded and let me go to Father’s table. He, too, never stops staring at me from afar.

 

 Father had changed since the last time I saw him. He looked better. He reminded me of the old him, when I was just going to Hogwarts. When he wasn’t part of a Dark Society.

We talked about Mother and how she was doing -fine, for all I knew.

He said I was too skinny, and that I should eat more. I don’t know if Mother had told him about me. I haven’t, as I haven’t talk or owl him since he’s been sentenced. I don’t know if I should have told him, but I haven’t.

He asked me what was I doing, was I studying? _Potions, I said._ He nodded, satisfy. He asked me if I have a girlfriend, I said no, but that I was seeing a boy since approx. a year. He said nothing, so I add abruptly that he was a pureblood. _Right,_ he answered. _As long as it’s not Potter._ I felt the knot in my stomach tying up again. _It’s Potter, isn’t it?_ I’ve never been ashamed of dating him, and I’ve never thought I could be ashamed, but I was. Not because it was Harry, but because of what he represents to my family. I hope that’s not how he felt when he told Molly Weasley -or anyone- about us. I’ll really have to ask him.

_I always knew. Since your first year at Hogwarts you had never stopped talking about him. Of course, I couldn’t be sure. It could have been just a childhood crush; but then you lied about not recognizing him... It wasn’t just a childhood crush, it was obviously something deeper; the way you couldn’t handle his gaze at your trial. More than half of the room was bursting with hatred, but it seemed that his thoughts on you were the only ones that matter. He was talking about you, defending you, and you looked mortified._

_Draco? Look at me, son. It’s alright. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I would have liked it better if you had choose another boy, but as long as he treats you right and never, you hear me Draco, as long as he never looks down on you for my mistakes and what I’ve dragged you into, it’s fine by me._

_And Malfoy don’t cry._

_Maybe we should._ I answered. And with it, our conversation about Harry ended. I’m not saying I would have broken up or whatever else if he told me he disapproved but knowing that he did...

 

I asked him if he had regrets, remorse. He said he was perfectly aware of what he has done, and what could be the consequences. He said he only regrets not being able to see me grow into a man, and not being ever able to see his grandchildren. But that he didn’t regret being a Death Eater. He said it in presence tense. He said he still deeply believes in Purity and that there was no other way to preserve it than in creating a new world. That Muggle and mostly Muggleborns were a threat to our community. That even if I disagree with his point of view, I should never forget that Muggles won’t ever live peacefully with another specie, mainly if said specie was more powerful and could be life threatening. That I shouldn’t forget how they hunted our ancestors. He said I only have to consider the way Harry’s aunt has treated him during eleven years. I replied that my pureblood aunt had tortured me. _Man up, Draco; it was a punishment, not a torture. She may have been a little bit tough-handed, but it was a lesson you needed to learn, so much more if Lord Voldemort’s plans had succeeded._

_-If he had killed Harry. And every Muggleborns in Hogwarts._

_It didn’t matter for you before._

_-It had always. There always was a difference between wrongly thinking I was superior to them because of my birth and wanting them dead._

_Do you regret taking the Mark?_

_-I never had a right to say no! I had no choice about it._

_You had._

_-He would have killed me._

_It’s plausible. But you valued your life more than theirs._

_-No, I…_

_It’s alright, Draco. And we don’t have that much time, let’s use it worthily._

 

But I didn’t want to talk about anything else. So I asked about Mother, about why she had never take the Mark _Women don’t take the Mark, they help building up worlds, not destroying the ancient ones. Bella only was allowed because of how fanatic she was. He knew she would never deceive him and that her heart would never be taken by another man, or children. Narcissa, your Mother, would never be more loyal to anyone that she is to you. She never took the Mark because she never has the possibility to wear it, but she married me and bear my only heir. She knew you would grow old within the Death Eaters, and that you would become one, one day. You are her Mark._

I got out of the room, trying my best not to run, not to cry or worse, throw up.

Ronald followed me silently as we got checked again until we waited for the boat to come. He only then asked me if I was going to be ok or if he had to call Harry, or Blaise, or whoever I needed. I said no. He asked if I wanted to hang around before going back to the institute. I said no, again. That I needed some time alone, but thank you for asking. He said that if I changed my mind, I could owl him.

 

When we arrived at the institute doorstep, he told me he doesn’t work tomorrow, if I needed company. And that I shouldn’t believe whatever my father told me. I thank him again, and asked him not to tell Harry, that there was no need to worry him and that I will talk to him lately. He said yes.

 

 

 

I spent the rest of the day hanging with Lyra. I hadn’t told her I’ve seen Father. I haven’t told anyone. She only knew I needed company and something to busy my mind. She showed me kitten video on her laptop and played music in it. We danced a few, and I teach her how to waltz.

 

I’ve owled Ronald. He suggests we go play Quidditch.

 

 

 

 

I am not Mother’s Dark Mark.

 

 

 

DMN,

I’ve seen Ronald. I write it down because it is still kinda surprising to me. I’ve never thought I could hang out with him. I always thought I would have to sympathise with him as he is Harry’s best friend, but getting along well? I wouldn’t have bet.

 

We mostly played Quidditch, and Merlin have I missed it, flying. I should never let a month pass without riding a broom. Then the playing lead to talking, shared memories of Hogwarts’ games, Victor Krum and the world cup (not the part where my “side” fucked up everything), and finally we were talking about Harry and I.

It’s sort of horrifying the easiness with which we chat. Words just flow out and I couldn’t find the time to think before opening my mouth. He’s just so … I don’t feel pressured, judged or whatever. We’re just two blokes. And it felt fine. So we kept talking until it was time for me to come back to the institute.

 

I’ve learn a few things about him, like his eagerness to use the word “bullshit” and the fact that Hermione is teaching him muggle swearwords, which I find is awesome. He thinks of asking her to move on with him; and from the way he talks about her, there’s no doubt that he’ll propose sooner than later.

 

He has magical scars from his chest to his hand, left by a brain attack back in 5th years -his side against “mine”. But he doesn’t really care. He said it’s pretty cool, having it; that it’s some kind of a reminder of how thoughts can be the most damageable weapon, and how he has to fight against his overthinking tendency. He told me he had left Harry and Hermione in 7th year because of it. But he adds that now it’s getting better, as he’s less afraid of expressing them, less afraid of making a fool of himself or not being understood.

 

I found wisdom in Ronald Bilius Weasley, more than he’s said to have, bravery and enough strength to forgive to the penitents.

We haven’t talk about the war in itself, but I had to apologize for what I’ve done, and what I’ve leaded to. I also said sorry for the imbecile prat I was before all this, and told him how much I regret not having been able to see through my parent’s view of the world, of who were worth it, and who weren’t.

He forgave me, and he looked like he already had. I don’t know how he had done it, but he had. He’d lost his brother, his father had been seriously injured and he’s been held captive in my caves while his girlfriend was being tortured. I really don’t know how he had done it. Sharing 8th year at Hogwarts wouldn’t have been enough for me if the role had been reversed. But I’m glad, and thankful.

 

He asked me about what happened yesterday and I told him I had lost all faith in my father, that he hadn’t express the sightless remorse and still hoped his Lord had win the war. I told him I would have liked it better if he had died in the Battle of Hogwarts, because his loss wouldn’t have been one to the world. I told him I was bitter he hadn’t died like Severus in doing something good, finally. I haven’t told him about being Mother’s mark, because there’s nothing he could have answered that wouldn’t have felt wrong. I know I kinda am: she knew who she was giving an heir to and during the six years it took them to have me, she could’ve changed her mind. But she hasn’t, and I don’t know which desire was the strongest, having a child or having Lucius’s one.   

 

 

I told you earlier, words flowed during all afternoon.

Now I only hope I haven’t fooled myself and given him weapons against me. I don’t think so, but I cannot not fear it.

 

I’m going to owl Harry. It’s been days and I haven’t told him I was allowed to walk as a free-man for half of the day.

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I’ve thought quite a lot about Ronald’s scars, lately.

I’ve stand in front of mirrors, pressing fingers along the trails of mine, but I couldn’t find beauty or meaning in it.

Fenrir’s bite marks on the side of my neck isn’t proving anything else than his own craziness,

The Sectumsempra scars… Latin for _Cut for ever…_ Severus knew how to name curses … Dittany or not, the scars are still there, an erratic pattern from my belly button to my face. I made my own experience over this one, trying to understand something I could never read about… All that Potter’s scars tell is how uncontrollable his anger was toward me, and how unpredictable his wand movements can be. If he had been more precise I would have been slashed open in two, not in pieces, and I would look better. Hopefully Sev has been able to heal completely the one on my cheek, the scar there is as thin as a cat’s scratch.

I wonder how he felt when he found me dying in the bathroom from a curse he had created. How ironic was it, making an unbreakable vow with Mother to watch me die from his curse.

Bella’s words engraved in my skin, _liar_ and _traitor_ , covered by whips scars, only shows she’s a perfectionist even when it came to torture her nephew. Bella’s words engraved in my skin, _liar_ and _traitor_ , splayed across my back, only show her drafts was good enough to be on full size elsewhere.  

The burn on my ankle only means Fire had tasted me.

Hopefully the Cruciatus Curses hadn’t left any taint.

 

The Dark Mark in my arm isn’t pretty at all, and I don’t want to find it any meaning.

 

I don’t know how Ronald could find meaning and use to his scars. I can’t.

And there are forever parts of me now.

An endless bridge to my past, to who I was, wasn’t, what I’ve done and what I haven’t.

 

But no, I wasn’t tortured _as if it wasn’t literally what Cruciatus means_. I was just punished and Bella has been a little bit _tough handed._ Screw you, Father. And rot in Azkaban.

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I saw Harry today.

I needed it; my brain is taking me to dark places again.

I didn’t ask him the question that was burning my lips, tongue and throat. I didn’t ask him how he could be sure to still like me when he’ll see me undressed.

I think he sensed something; maybe I was gripping his hand too tight, maybe I was too silent, maybe I cut my cake in too many pieces before swallowing a quarter of it, hiding one in my paper towels when he wasn’t looking, but letting the other two in my plate. He asked me if I was ok and I couldn’t find myself to lie to him, nor to tell him the truth. So I told him I was tired, making nightmares again. It’s true, but it’s not what’s bothering me the most.

 

I’m really pissed at myself. Harry doesn’t deserve a boyfriend like me. I may love him to the moon and back but I’m not enough, and far too disturbed. I’m only making him worry. I really wonder what’s enough in this relationship for him to stay. Is he happy enough for balancing the perpetual worries I give him? Or is he too chivalrous to let go of me now?

I know it’s only in my brain. If he feels just like me, then yes, our relationship makes sense. If he feels the butterflies in his stomach when our hands brush, or the firework every time we kiss… He really makes me happy. But I haven’t seen him since BFSH, and even if it was brilliant, it doesn’t balance my unequal moods. Hopefully it will get better now that I can go out, we’ll be able to see each other more frequently and if I’m lucky enough it will feel as greatly as usual.

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

Lyra asked me if I wanted to cover the Mark. She said that if wizard tattoo couldn’t, maybe muggle could.

I’ve never thought of using Muggle device against it. I’ve tried magic, curses, hex and charms. But it heals every time, l casted dozen on it, even tried the Sectumsempra, but it had always healed by himself. I would hurt and bleed and watch the Dark Magic clotting my blood and stitching my skin; and at the end of the process, the Mark would be so slightly altered. I’ve tried knives but maybe because they were ours and enchanted from times to times, they didn’t work. I’ve never tried to use something that had never been in contact with magic.

I’ll have to give it a try before thinking of covering it.   

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I saw Harry today. He took me to his muggle cinema and I couldn’t stop looking at him as he was watching the screen. Muggle God blesses Muggle cinema and their comedy. I will never be bored of his tender smile as the hero gets the kiss, the laughter he tries to silence every time a joke is made -I still don’t get half of them, too much Muggle references- or the lonely tear he quickly wiped away when the dog dies.

He asked me how did I find the movie and I told him marvellous, because that’s just how he is. He said I really have to stop to stare at him during every projection and enjoy the film, but grinned and flushed as I promise I wouldn’t act as foolishly.

 

I asked him if he was ok with me hanging around with Ronald lately and he happily said yes. He asked me if I was ok with him hanging with Blaise and Pansy every Friday night and I said yes. I told him how I felt in the beginning, but that I was ok with it now; now that Blaise and I had talked about it.

I asked if I’ll be allowed to their meeting when I’ll be able to go out during the evening and he looked at me with puzzled eyes before saying “of course, yes, you idiotic prat”. I told him about the fear I had. He said I had overthinking this, that they were still my best friends before being anything to him, and that I was the only one Slytherin he wanted to spend time with. He told me what I needed to hear, but he hadn’t say it because of I wanted, but because he felt it.

 

I love him.

 

We talked some more, kissed on benches and laugh genuinely, as every 20 yo boys would have done.

 

 

 

DMN,

I’m still spending too much time thinking about my scars, but I need to make my body mine again, and I won’t be able to do it until I accept the marks that covered it.

The slow burn in my stomach is back again and I can’t help but feel a little bit grateful of it. Because emptiness is pure, can’t stop repeating a voice in my head, and I am not anymore. Of course Father made sure no one would stain me and rob him from his heir, but they tagged and branded me, and claimed me theirs. And I really need to make me mine.

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I got an owl from Granger.

She demands explanation on Pansy’s ignorance of my ability to go out. She wants to know if it’s a mistake of mine or if it’s purposefully. She says she doesn’t want to interfere between us, but that she needs to know before making a slip.

She hasn’t lectured me about how P has a right to know as she’s my friend / she’s worried about me etc.

I wrote her back, explaining it was more of a parapraxis than anything else. I had forgotten to tell her because I currently didn’t want to see her, but that she could, as I don’t want her to lie because of me, as long as this letter stay between us two.

 

I haven’t seen Blaise yet, but mostly because he’s still in France. We exchanged a few owls but it was too weird for both of us so we agreed to limit our exchange to what’s necessary until he gets back here and we can actually see each other.  

 

 

Tobias announced this morning he’s going to be release next week.

I asked Dr R. when I’ll be. He said not until I’m over 60, maybe 65, he’ll have to see with Mother and I depending on what I was planning to do after.

I asked about my current weight and he said 54.

 

Part of me is happy knowing I’ll be out in 6kg, part of me is ashamed of already being that / having gained that quickly.

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I’ve seen Harry and Ronald today. We played Quidditch, it was fun even when lacking a player. I ask them if they’ll be ok with playing a game with Tobias, specifying how he was a fan. They giggled and R. pointed out that he couldn’t be worse than Harry and I when we were more obsessed with each other than we were in the game. I blushed and Harry said he wasn’t obsessed; Ron laughed so hard he felt off his broom.

 

Harry took me back to the institute and asked when he’ll be able to have me for the night.

I told him I was thinking of covering the Mark, or my scars, and/or my scars; that I was trying to make my body mine before giving it to someone else. He blushed hard enough for it to show despise his dark skin. He swears he wasn’t implying that but stuttered that he of course would like it and proceeded to say absolutely everything and nothing at once. I kissed him out of his misery, trying not to grin too obviously. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken that opportunity to replace an adult conversation about making love, but at least it’s mostly done. I could explain what’s left later.

 

 

 

DMN,

The Mark can be altered by Muggle device.

I’ve decided not to cover it. It doesn’t define who I am, but as Ron as said about his scars, it’s as effective as a Remembrall. It doesn’t define me, but it could have, and this I should never forget. I won’t reduce it as a sign of my belonging to the Dark Lord, it’s way more than this. It’s the wrong set of my up breeding and family’s beliefs, its alienation. I cannot just cover it and pretend it had never existed, because it had, and forgetting would be another act of cowardice.

 

 

Lyra isn’t a fan of my idea, but I know she’ll help me. If I want it to be well done, I cannot do this alone and it won’t be fair to ask Tobias -or maybe he will love to do so… and I can definitely not ask Edward.

 

 

 

DMN,

Lyra said yes. She doesn’t trust Tobias -she knew him from Hogwarts and still can’t stand him. She refuses his fingers on me.

It still hurts, but in a good way.

It’s believed self-inflicted pain helps cleansing the heaviest faults. I know it might sounds crazy, and I’m not sure what Dr R will think about it if he finds out, but it isn’t for me. I’m not going to cut myself in shreds like Edward does. I’m not spilling my blood because I deserve suffering and living in a mix of shame and pain. I put a dot on that part of my story. They’ve spilled my blood and made me cleaned it as I was still shaking in pain. Lyr cleaned the wound delicately, still shocked of what she has agreed to do. My Mark isn’t something I undergo anymore.

 

I’m waiting for it to heal before adding the last touch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

I know I’m not regular at all, but I haven’t so much to say.

It’s not that anything happen, it’s just that I don’t feel like writing down every single thing.

Days passed, and weeks too.

 

I’ve add “ _crucio_ ” in one of the Mark’s loop, for I had tried to cast it, once.

 

What else?

Lyra has met the guys, and Harry likes her back.

It’s strange that I think of Blaise and Ron as “the guys”, but I do.

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

Harry invited me to the Burrow. It’s his home, his family.

I said yes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DMN,

It’s been weeks, months already since the last time I threw up, days before they sent me to St Mungo.

The lunch at the Weasley wasn’t a total disaster but its ending absolutely was. I couldn’t keep Molly’s food inside. I was suffocating, as if it was stuck in my throat, keeping me from breathing. My chest felt too tight around my lungs. I just couldn’t keep it. My brain couldn’t allow my body to keep it.

I was utterly stupid to think I could disappear in a bathroom for more than two minutes without having Harry freaking out. I -I didn’t want him to find me like that. When I’ve heard him scratching the door, asking if everything was fine… I couldn’t stop sobbing and crying him to get downstairs but he didn’t move. He couldn’t stop saying _it’s going to be ok, I’m going to be ok, we’re going to be ok_. I appreciate the fact he hadn’t magically unlocked the door as he kept repeating _please Draco, love, it’s gonna be ok, you’re gonna be ok, please let me in_  as I kept pushing my fingers down my throat -crossing the line I’ve swore to never crossed. And then I had. And I couldn’t help but feel better, kneeling in front of the toilet seat, eyes red and wet, fingers covered in saliva and puke, heart beating and pumping and stomach aching. I couldn’t help but hate Harry a little for being outside of that door, for hearing me and staying. For being healthy and putting so much faith in me to be.

I heard heavier footsteps on the stairs and then someone whispered, probably Molly, asking Harry if she needed to call Mother or Dr R. He said no.

I looked into the mirror and find a boy I wasn’t.

 

 

They all acted as if everything was fine when I got downstairs, Harry slightly rubbing my hand with his thumb, Molly not offering to anyone the cakes she spent her afternoon baking; and we drank our tea in a parody of conversation.

 

 

Harry hadn’t dropped my hand until we were back at the institute, but he never really looked at me.

 

 

I should just Apparate at his.

I just want to collapse in his arms and hear him promise I’m gonna be alright.

But the scratching and his despair, I couldn’t take it. and how could he?

I don’t want any of us to live this again. I just feel too hot and my heart is beating too fast.

I can’t stand without a support.

I should just go to bed and shorten this day but I’m afraid of tomorrow. I hope I’ll be able to eat. And to keep it inside.

Bite, chew, swallow, keep it inside. Breathe. Bite, chew, swallow, keep it inside, breathe.

 

 What’s so hard?

 


End file.
